GOTHAM: Hidden Identities
by cloisthelegendbegins
Summary: After providing evidence to help convict Lex Luthor for crimes against humanity, Chloe Sullivan is placed in the Witness Protection Program. Leaving what the Justice League deemed to be an unsafe identity she has been relocated to Gotham City.
1. Chapter 1

_**Title:**_ **GOTHAM: Hidden Identities **by Annie T**  
**

_**Rating**_: PG to PG-13

_**Relationship**_: 'Chruce' with Batman/Superman/Clark Kent/Lois Lane and Justice League references

_**Disclaimer**_: I do not own any of the characters from Smallville/The Batman Movies/The Superman Movies or DC Comics - all just for fun!!!

_**Summary**_: A companion piece for **METROPOLIS: New Beginnings** showing the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Chloe Sullivan (some overlaps)

After providing evidence to help convict Lex Luthor for crimes against humanity, Chloe Sullivan is placed in the Witness Protection Program. Leaving what the Justice League deemed to be an unsafe identity she has been relocated by them to Gotham City. Story set post Smallville Season Seven.

**CHAPTER ONE.**

**_Gotham Gazette City Room – Afternoon:_**

At Gotham city's leading daily tabloid, copy boys rushed to and fro while reporters pounded out articles on computer terminals. Mark Knox sauntered in, a sheath of typed pages in his hand as he paused at a Cartoonist's drawing table.

"What have you got for me, Jerry?"

Jerry held up a cartoon: a caricature of a human bat, with an awful, fanged rodent's face, wearing a business suit. The caption at the top read: "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?"

Knox nodded in approval, "Nice, but... maybe a little more gore on the fangs, huh? Make him more evil. He's a wanted felon."

He patted Jerry on the shoulder and moved towards his desk, stopping in his tracks. Propped up on the desk were a pair of shapely legs; the legs - exceptionally nice ones in his opinion - attached to a woman leaning back in his swivel chair, apparently taking a nap - her face obscured by a hat.

Knox smiled, "Well, well... the return of Vicki Vale..."

The hat was tipped back with one manicured fingernail and a familiar dazzling smile lit up the room as she threw the hat at him and shook her long blond hair loose.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Honey - I would know any randomly selected square inch of Vicki Vale if I had a good enough hint. I'm a reporter - willing to investigate you any time you're ready..." He waggled his brows meaningfully.

She rolled her eyes. So he pointed at the oversized camera bag on his desk. Large, luminous green eyes looked at it, reading the monogrammed 'V.V.' before she looked back at him and stuck out her tongue.

Knox laughed, perching on the edge of his desk, then frowning at her with mock severity, "Where the hell have you been?"

"A nice, restful vacation." She reached into the camera bag and pulled out a stack of glossy 8x10's: combat photos from some unspecified war-torn corner of the world.

Knox leafed through them, impressed, "Got words to go with these?"

"One or two."

"You'll get a weekend special outta this if we get it past the old man. God, a girl could get hurt doing this."

"I do get hurt." She unbuttoned her sleeve, rolling it back to show a long fresh scar on the inside of her arm.

Knox winced, "Got any more of those anywhere else?"

"Nothing I'm at liberty to reveal here." She winked, then looked around the large room, "So what's new and hot in Gotham City?"

"We still got a fugitive six-foot bat that swoops out of the night and preys on evildoers."

She laughed again, the sound like musical notes in the air, "Evildoers, huh? Big or small?"

"Small so far. I mean - they don't allow bats in boardrooms, do they?"

"Speaking of which..." She lifted her high heels off his desk and sat upright in the chair, "I hear the notorious Bruce Wayne is throwing a big do for the new wing of the museum next weekend."

Knox nodded, "Yep. Hottest ticket in town."

"Mmm," She quirked finely arched brows, "I heard that."

When she pursed her lips and looked at him with sparkling eyes, Knox froze. She had that look, "_Wa-a-it_. Vick. You're not saying -"

She reached into her camera bag and calmly handed over an embossed invitation, making Knox all but pant with excitement, "Aw, Vicki. Vicki! Tell me you don't have a date..."

Fluttering long eyelashes, she shook her head. So Knox grabbed her face, leaned in and planted a kiss on her forehead, nearly knocking her out of the swivel chair, "Vicki, baby, I love you, I've always loved you. Will you marry me?"

Vicki carefully straightened her clothes, "Well done – you lasted a whole ten minutes today. But the answers still no."

**_Gotham Gazette City Room - Late Evening._**

It wasn't the first time she'd worked late with only the occasional shuffle of the cleaning crews to let her know she wasn't alone in the building. And it wasn't that she was overly edgy, despite the number of times she still found herself looking over her shoulder. But there was just, something, that brought her attention from the computer screen long enough to notice when a shadow moved in her peripheral vision.

Automatically her spine straightened a little, her hand sliding from the keyboard to the top drawer of her desk while she looked from side to side without moving her head to indicate she knew she wasn't alone. Stay calm. Remember you're in the best position. That was one of the comforts of having her desk facing the only entrance and her back to the wall. But it also meant she had to be ready, just in case she had to get to the exit – fast. So she rolled her chair back at the same as she slid the drawer open, covering the sound with a cough as her fingertips touched the cold metal of the gun she always kept close by.

He stepped out of the shadows, a deep voice she hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime rumbling out a low greeting, "I should have known I'd find you at a newspaper somewhere. Hiding in plain sight, huh?"

Her breath caught, "_Clark_?"

The light from her desk lamp illuminated his features as he stepped closer, a small smile on his mouth and sparkling in his eyes, "She remembers."

The answering smile was immediate, and she was out of the chair and flinging herself into his arms before the sound of his low chuckle even reached her ears, "Oh my god - I can't believe you're here!"

"Careful now – squeeze me any tighter and you might leave a bruise."

Leaning back she smacked a broad shoulder, "As if!"

Setting her at arms length Clark raised his dark brows, "Look at you. Life in Gotham City obviously suits you."

She tilted her head to one side and rolled her eyes, "What can I say? I guess I just found my niche. If I'd known all it would take was a secret identity then I'd have followed your lead a lot sooner."

His expression changed, taking on that 'weight of the world/responsible for everything' look she remembered all too well from when she'd known him before, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you Chloe. What you did –"

"Needed done," She stepped forwards again and squeezed his forearms, "I'm a big girl now Smallville – I can look out for myself. So you can stop that. You always did guilt better than anyone else on the planet."

The smile reappeared, "Your cousin has been rubbing off on you some in the nick name department, hasn't she?"

Chloe grinned before moving back to her desk, talking along the way, "Lois and my new life combined. It's tough not getting to see her anymore though. I miss her being around."

"You still talk?"

"We have a code," She threw him a wink as she sat down on the edge of the desk, "Just don't go telling anyone at the Witness Protection Program. I'm quite happy where I am. So – tell me all about Clark Kent's latest adventures – where've you been for the last five years? Enrolled a new side-kick yet?"

Clark shook his head, folding his arms across his broad chest, "No new side-kick, you'd be tough to replace. I've traveled some – finished up my training – and now I'm headed back to Metropolis. I just wanted to check in and see how you were."

"You finished your training? Wow – what was that like?"

"Interesting."

"I'll bet."

When he wasn't any more forthcoming Chloe crossed her legs and studied him for a moment, finding it interesting he'd chosen to go back to the city rather than the small town they'd grown up in, "Do you know what you're going to do in Metropolis?"

"I have a job offer," His wide mouth twitched at the edges, "At the Planet."

Chloe's eye's widened, "You're kidding me."

"Nope. Start Monday. I sent them some pieces from my travels and they liked what they saw. It's pretty easy to get the inside story on disasters and accidents if you're on the scene when they happen."

"Well, well, finally a hidden bonus to being a superhero, huh?"

"So it would seem. And the way I see it – it's easier to keep track of what's going on if I'm at the center of it all, so The Planet's ideal," He unfolded his arms and moved forwards until he was close enough to turn and sit on the desk beside her, his voice lowering, "You want me to give a message to Lois?"

Chloe laughed softly, nudging his shoulder with her own, "And how would you do that when you're not supposed to know where I am, genius?"

"Good point."

"Does she know you're back?"

"No."

"She was pretty mad at you for a while."

Clark smiled, his chin dropping, "No change there then," He glanced sideways at her, "It'll be like the old days."

"We've all come a long way from the old days."

"Yes, we have," And the hint of regret in his voice was all too evident.

So Chloe nudged his shoulder again, her voice soft, "We all end up where we're s'posed to be in the end."

"I like to hope so."

The doors at the end of the hall swung open, a cleaning trolley rattling down the tiled floor while they sat in silence waiting for it to pass; a million unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them until Clark took a deep breath,

"Are you happy Chloe?"

She was touched that he needed to know and comforted by the fact that even though so much had happened since they'd been friends before it still felt like it had been weeks rather than years since they'd last talked. It was a sign of true friendship, wasn't it?

"You know something? I am. I might not get to write the name Chloe Sullivan in my by-lines these days but I'm still exactly where I always wanted to be," She waved a hand at the room, "Here in a great newspaper – sniffing out the great stories… It's not The Planet I dreamed of but its pretty close. I could do with a little less of a high-maintenance image but I kinda love the fact that an old friend thinks I look glamorous nowadays…"

Clark nodded, aiming another smile her way, "I'm glad. And now I'm back I'll try and fly in as often as I can, okay?"

"In the literal sense or via traditional methods?"

"Nah - I got that one down pat now."

"Well I'm very glad to hear it 'cos some of those trial sessions?" She shuddered, "Not so pretty to watch. Graceful wasn't exactly your thing at the beginning."

He laughed, "No it certainly wasn't."

Chloe watched as he pushed up onto his feet, tilting her head back to look up into his face as he studied her with affection shining in his eyes. She'd missed her friend. It felt good to have him back – and to think he could come to her again if he needed help with something. She'd missed that too. Only now she had a life of her own as well – she wouldn't be putting her career on hold while she spent time helping him research meteor freaks or escaped Zoner's or… well… the list could go on and on…

"Don't be a stranger."

"I won't," He rocked forwards onto the balls of his feet and dropped his chin to look at her with a quirk of his eyebrows, "_Watchtower_."

Ah, so that was how he'd found her. She pursed her lips and nodded, "Oliver finally signed you up then I take it."

"Uh-huh."

She nodded again, "Bout time too. You always were the last one to the party. Do we still get to call you Boy Scout?"

The question raised another low chuckle of laughter as he rocked back onto his heels, "No, that's gotta go. If I have any new ideas you'll be the first to know."

"I better be. Can't have Lois steal the scoop on me and you know no-one bestows a superhero title better than lil ole me."

"If it was left to Lois we'd still have the Green Arrow Bandit, so I'll just leave it in your capable hands," He took another deep breath and looked her straight in the eye, "If you need me – for anything - just yell, okay?"

Chloe smiled a broad smile, well aware he meant literally, "I have an army of superhero's looking out for me these days - trust me. You just keep an eye on my cousin for me – she's never out of trouble."

"I can believe that."

"She won't make it easy for you."

"I can believe that too."

"And you'll have a hard time convincing her you'll make much of a reporter when she's only ever known you as a farm boy."

The smile he gave her indicated he had an ace somewhere up his sleeve, "Well like you said – we've all come a long way since the old days."

Chloe's eyes narrowed; every fiber of the reporter in her sensing something big was on its way. But before she could ask the question he leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek, his voice low and edged with sincerity,

"It's good to see you Chloe Sullivan."

"You too Clark Kent," She waited until he was almost at the door before she added, "And by the way – for future reference - it's Vicki."

He turned, "Vicki?"

Yes, they'd come a long way alright. Something told Chloe that Clark Kent was about to unleash a new name into the annals of Superhero history. And thanks to the Witness Protection Program she had a new name of her own – one he needed to start using if he wanted to make sure Lex Luthor's long reaching hand couldn't touch her again,

"My name - it's Vicki – Vicki Vale. Try and remember?"

"I'll do my best."

And just like that he was gone – the associated swift displacement of air blowing her long blond hair back from her cheeks. She shook her head, a smile on her lips,

"That just never gets boring…"

**_Fleugelheim Museum – Night (One Week Later):_**

"... with the continued support of Wayne Industries naturally we hope to see..."

Bruce Wayne's attention had long since waned from the continuing conversation between a State Senator, the Mayor and the varying dignitaries who surrounded him. He remained aware of what they were saying but they didn't need his full attention for him to follow the conversation. And part of the ruse of Billionaire Playboy was to assume an air of boredom; more interested in the party itself and the never-ending supply of champagne flutes that were brought by on round silver platters...

Draining his glass he nonchalantly reached out an arm to set it on a tray and replace it with another as he smiled at the young waitress. He even remembered to turn his head and admire her curved figure as she walked away. But she was just another face in a crowd he didn't want to be part of. The 'boredom' part of the ruse becoming easier with each passing day.

Lifting the new glass to his mouth he glanced out at the crowd. And that was when he got his first glimpse of her. In a sea of black and white it took a swinging beam of light to pick up the gold in her hair. Just her hair. He couldn't see her face because a curtain of loose curls obscured her profile from him. Then the beam of light roved away, the crowd rolled into a different position like a wave and she disappeared like a ghost; making him turn his head to search for her again. Where -?

_There_. This time the curtain of curls shifting like molten gold as she looked over her shoulder and long, darkened lashes lifted – locking her gaze with his for a brief, mesmerizing moment. Then she turned away, the crowd shifted. And she was gone again.

"Excuse me gentlemen." Bruce inclined his head, "_Ladies_..."

She appeared and disappeared in and out of the crowd as he tried to get through it. Each glimpse more tempting than the last until suddenly he was left in the center of the crowd, turning a circle as he tried to find her again. Where had she gone? Why was she so fascinating to him? Who was she? It was the first time in a very long time he'd been so fascinated by a woman. But now he needed to see her so he could place her and make her... human...less ghost-like...

Like any other woman in the room.

But she was gone. So after a while he headed for the solitude of an outside balcony where the city was laid out in front of him; his eyes narrowing as he viewed the darkened monoliths of the buildings and the shadows where unknown evils lurked and waited for the nemesis who would bring them out into the open. Too quiet. It had been too quiet for too long. And when he lifted his chin and looked to the heavy skies as gray clouds slid across a full moon he felt an impending sense of something momentous coming. Soon. More than likely a foe who would bring chaos on his city.

Her expensive perfume came to him on the night air. And when he turned she was at the other end of the full length balcony, her fine boned hands on the stone wall as the same night air lifted her hair from her profile and whispered it across her naked back.

A small, almost knowing smile curled her lips and then she turned away into the shadows.

It brought him a step closer, "A daring choice."

She looked over her shoulder, "Standing on a balcony?"

"Your dress," Another step closer, "This is a Black and White Ball."

And her dress was as silvery gray as the moonlight.

Lifting her chin she turned on dangerously high heels, "Not everything is black and white Mister Wayne. There are always gray areas in between. I simply choose to explore them."

That she knew who he was was no great surprise. Everyone knew the Bruce Wayne he chose to show to the outside world. But now he was even more intrigued than before, "You have me at a disadvantage Miss..."

"Oh I doubt very much anyone ever has you at a disadvantage Mister Wayne." A step forwards brought her out of the shadows and into the moonlight; a luminous gaze fixed on his as long dark lashes blinked, "I think there's more to you than meets the eye."

Bruce's eyes narrowed at her words as he took a mental snapshot of her features. She was delicate – petite – almost fragile, and had an air of purity completely at odds with the way she was dressed. Something was out of place. He could sense it.

Falling into character he held his arms out to his sides, bowed and grinned broadly, "Feel free to come over and find out..."

A fleeting smile touched her lips. Then she reached into her clutch and produced a small card that she held between her thumb and forefinger, "I'd prefer to find out when you're sober and lucid. You can give me a call when you're ready to set up a meeting. During business hours..."

Straightening, he accepted the card, his mouth pursed in resignation as he read what it said. Great. Just what he needed. Someone else interested in splashing the elusive Bruce Wayne across the pages of a tabloid. And at a time when his alter ego was being hunted throughout the city. There would be no meeting with this woman. No matter how beautiful or intriguing she was.

"Not everyone approaches an interview with an angle Mister Wayne," As if she'd somehow read his mind, she stepped closer and lifted her chin to look up at him with heavy lashes; her voice low and seductive, "Some of us prefer to listen to what a person has to say before we place their words in print. It's called journalistic integrity. A little old fashioned; granted. But personally I find there are less law-suits that way, don't you?"

Bruce studied her warily with hooded eyes.

But before he could say anything she shot him a sparkle eyed smile that lit her up from inside in a way he couldn't remember ever seeing before. It was mesmerizing. And that was before she looked over his face and turned on her heel, "Goodnight Mister Wayne."

"Miss Vale?"

She turned in the shadows, "Yes?"

"I have a public relations department that will be more than happy to give you what you need. I'm quite sure you're aware of that."

Not that he could see it clearly but he was sure she was smiling. He could almost hear it in her voice, "Ahh... but how can anyone get to know you better with a standard press release? I'm much more thorough than that Mister Wayne. And I get a great deal of pleasure out of my work that way..."

Holding her card between thumb and forefinger the way she had, he lifted it in front of his body, turned it, and then flicked it into the wind; watching her as it disappeared over the balcony, "Put the words _getting to know me better_ and _pleasure_ in the one sentence Miss Vale and there's no need for it to be an interview when it can be something entirely more enjoyable..."

There was a moment of silence and Bruce could almost feel the ripple of anger as it washed over him. But he merely got a low, "Good night Mister Wayne."

The even click of her heels took her to the glass doors; her hair becoming more golden the closer she got to the light. In darkness she was moonlight, in light she was sunshine. Bruce lifted a brow at the random thought. Then he turned away and looked out over what he could see of the city, his chin lifting as he breathed a deep breath of heavy, smog-filled air.

His gaze had drifted higher to watch as clouds pushed past the full moon when the words came to his mind; '_Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed. As if this __phantom, full of pain, were by the crumbling walls concealed. And at the windows seen again._'

Bruce had no idea why the poem came to him the way it did. But it made him shake his head as he poured the contents of his glass into a potted plant and turned to go back to the party. One more round of the room and he could leave. There was still a long night ahead of him...

**_Wayne Manor – Late Afternoon (four days later):_**

Knox and Vicki were taking an unauthorized tour of the house, wandering through rooms decorated in divergent motifs, studying an astounding collection of artworks and antiques from every corner of the world.

"My question is, where does one man get all this junk?"

Vicki took in her surroundings, disappointed by the lack of personal items. But then considering the mansion had only recently had building work completed after the major fire that had destroyed it a few years earlier she supposed it wasn't really surprising. Unlike their little impromptu visit. She doubted Bruce Wayne would be pleased to see them. But there was no way in hell she was letting go of this story, not having met the man in person. There was just something about him. And she wanted to know what it was.

She stopped briefly in front of a painting, "All over the world. They say he spends most of the year overseas - until a few years ago, anyway. He'd dropped off the map for a long time. Rumor was he was dead."

Continuing down the wide hallway they turned into an open doorway and Knox froze, "_Holy crap_..." Recovering, he walked into the library goggle-eyed, "... We found the arsenal. Fetish much?"

One wall was lined floor to the high ceiling with leather-bound volumes. On the other walls hung weapons; halberds, maces, blowguns, bolas, thugee ropes and samurai swords - every arcane implement of death the human mind had ever devised. Vicki studied it all with narrowed eyes. Even the Luthors had never been as openly threatening. It was like walking into some kind of lair – everything barring the books sending out the clear signal of '_beware_' more clearly than a rabid guard-dog could have done.

Knox let out a low whistle, "This guy just got interesting. What else do you know?"

"Just what I've heard. Rich. Reclusive. Old money and lots of it." She walked further into the room, her fingertips itching to reach for her camera.

"Likes to kill things?"

"Women apparently find him magnetic," Vicki smiled briefly at him.

Knox smirked back, "I bet they like him for his big charity balls."

She chuckled, "That, and the sweet smell of a few billion bucks."

"Well, you know me. The more they've got, the less they're worth." He leaned his head back and looked around the room again while Vicky read some of the spines of the books; Tolstoy, Kerouac, Homer, Shakespeare and he added, "In which case this guy must be the most worthless man in America."

A deep, calm voice interrupted their conversation, "Why not the world?"

They both turned round to look at the impassive face of Bruce Wayne. On second viewing Vicki supposed she could understand why women found him attractive, from a purely aesthetic point of view; tall, athletic, intensely handsome...

Knox sighed, "I assume in my usual charming manner I've just insulted the host." He stepped forwards and extended a hand, "Mark Knox."

Bruce ignored the hand and stepped around him, "I've read your work. I quite like it."

Knox dropped his arm and turned on his heel to watch as the taller man prowled the edge of the room, "Great. Give me a grant."

"I might consider it if you introduce me to Miss Vale." He stopped in front of her.

As her gaze rose to meet his, Knox stepped towards them, "This is Miss Vale."

He looked from one of them to the other, fully aware that they'd already met; "That felt redundant."

Bruce ignored him, "You're just back from Corto Maltese I believe. I saw your combat photos. Quite a departure for you."

"That's intriguing." Her chin lifted, "They haven't been published yet."

Bruce smiled a minute smile and skipped the implied question, "You have an extraordinary eye."

Territorial instincts apparently aroused, Knox piped up with; "Some people think she has two."

Vicki shot him a brief sidelong glance before returning her attention to the man towering over her, "Don't mind my friend. He's a little nervous."

"Have you always been a photographer Miss Vale?"

She smiled smoothly, completely unruffled, "An old boyfriend passed on a few skills. When it added an extra dimension to my work and allowed me more freedom of movement I explored it further."

"Indeed. There's a great deal to be said for additional skills, freedom of movement and exploration..." Bruce blinked lazily as he continued staring at her.

Knox, briefly chastened by Vicki's silent recrimination, called off the dogs and sized up his competition instead. Bruce Wayne was charming all right, but there was something formal, maybe even calculating about it – he could be reading his clever remarks off cue cards. It was almost as though he was an actor doing a brilliant imitation of charm. A man who thinks three moves ahead, Knox figured. And he didn't like him one little bit. But Vicki – who was used to seeing male charm turned on and off at will – didn't seem to mind at all. She even looked like she was enjoying the battle of wills. It was like watching some kind of weird mating ritual.

Knox looked around for something to make a comment on; his gaze falling on a nearby suit of armor, "Nice armor."

"It's Japanese." Bruce said without breaking eye contact to see which one Knox was referring to.

"How do you know?"

"Because I bought it in Japan."

Vicki's lips quirked, then she dropped her chin and glanced around the room, "This is an amazing house. I'd love to photograph it sometime."

"I don't seek publicity Miss Vale." He waited for her to look at him again, "Will you be staying in Gotham for a while?"

"As far as I know." Her chin lifted again.

"Then perhaps we'll run into each other again." He leaned a little towards her, his voice lowering, "But in future perhaps you'll consider making an appointment before visiting my home. I have a penthouse in the City I find more useful for _meetings_..."

Knox saw an older man appear in the doorway as Bruce leaned back and added; "Alfred will see you out."

With that he did a sharp one-eighty and left the room on long, confident strides. His butler nodded and extended an arm, "If you'll follow me Sir, Miss..."

Knox stepped over to Vicki's side as they hung back enough to talk in hushed tones, "I know the rich are different, but that guy is _real_ different."

Vicki, staring off in the direction Bruce had taken, didn't seem to hear him.

So he clicked his fingers in front of her face, "Hello? Vicki?"

"Oh. Sorry." She blinked up at him, "I was thinking."

"What were you thinking?"

"That it's as well this place has high ceilings and wide doors to make room for an ego the size of a small country in Europe." She smiled sweetly and batted her long lashes.

"Well, he must like the way he looks. He's got mirrors everywhere." Knox nodded as they stopped in front of an enormous wall mirror, at least eight feet wide and running from floor to ceiling, "I dub thee Bruce Vain."

Vicki groaned at the dumb pun and elbowed him in the ribs, "Don't underestimate him. I've met his kind before. Still waters don't just run deep – they have a tendency to be murky..."

Her gaze slid around the frame of the mirror, then she leaned in closer; holding her breath so she didn't create a fog while she smoothed her lipstick with the tip of her forefinger. Then she winked at her reflection, smiled a small smile, and leaned back, "Let's go before we get lost in this maze."

Behind the mirror, recording everything that happened, was a small, silent, state-of-the-art surveillance camera. Underneath the mansion Bruce watched the playback several times, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his long fingers tented; index fingers resting against his upper lip. The wink. _The wink_ was what narrowed his eyes in thought. If he didn't know better -

One of the other monitors in a vast bank captured his attention. From his control center he not only monitored everything happening in and around the house, he was also tapped into world-wide news reports, security feeds in the city and cameras he had strategically placed in offices of interest.

The screen he zeroed in on showed people moving backwards at speed. Bruce hit a button on the panel in front of him and watched as Chief Gordon talked to a uniformed officer, "... anonymous tip. Tonight. The Ace Chemical Company."

Gordon looked agitated, "Why wasn't I told about this? Who's in charge of the -"

"Lt. Eckhardt, sir."

And suddenly Gordon was grabbing for his coat.

Bruce reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt, his gaze flickering briefly to the replay of Vicki Vale's wink again. He wasn't done with her. Maybe a 'date' was in order...

_Ace Chemical Co. Parking Lot – Night:_

Unmarked Police cars pulled into the lot, headlights off. Eckhardt circulated among his armed SWAT team, handing out Xeroxed copies of a photograph.

"Shoot to kill."

In an indoor hallway two hoods ran down a tiled corridor in the office section of the complex. They were almost at the end of the hall when a dark shadow stepped into their path. It stood there, motionless, then extended long arms – like giant wings. One millisecond later, the shocked hoods were racing back in the opposite direction as their pursuer flung a handful of dark ball bearings across the tiled floor. The first man tumbled to the floor and landed hard, losing his breath; the second rolled and pulled a gun.

There was a vibration in the air and the man found his gun hand pinned to the wall by the prongs of a bat shaped piece of metal.

Batman walked silently towards them, calm and businesslike; taking his time. He grabbed a handful of the man on his knees hair, lifted his head and kneed him in the face – knocking him out. Then he turned to the terrified man trying to free his arm from the wall. One well-placed punch and he slumped against the wall - unconscious.

There was the sound of running footsteps downstairs, random switches being thrown to create a diversion. With every switch thrown, another gigantic machine roared to life; centrifuges spun, huge polymer extruder's spat out thick strands of plastic gunk, overhead chemical tanks rotated into place over giant basins...

The man downstairs saw a squad of cops on his tail, moving from machine to machine, keeping covered. So he fired off a few rounds at them and began running again.

Then two more men appeared on the elevated walkways, firing off rounds from machine guns, keeping down, avoiding police fire. One of them started up a vertical ladder leading to the next catwalk up but Batman plunged past on the end of a fine line – a gloved hand snatching at the man's jacket as he climbed upwards – then yanking him off the ladder. They dropped simultaneously to the lower catwalk.

The man gaped, leveling his weapon at Batman who simply stood his ground, holding onto the rails of the catwalk for support. A bullet hit him squarely in the chest. But he didn't fall. So the man turned and scrambled away, Batman flinging one arm forward and planting a barbed hook in the man's leg. He cried out in pain. And it was enough to grab the attention of the cops below.

"Look! Up there! Are you seein' this?"

Gordon ran into view, glanced up, looked around him, then glanced up again, "_It's him_."

Another man was charging Batman from behind. But without even turning Batman raised an elbow, hit him in the face, and dropped him. While he tried to scramble back to his feet, believing they had the advantage with one of them on either side; Batman took a small steel club from his belt, snapped his wrist, whipping it once through the air. It telescoped out into a four foot staff. Like a drum majorette from hell, he whirled the staff as the two hooded men tried to converge on him. One took a debilitating jab under the jaw. Then Batman spun on his booted heels and slammed the end of the staff into the other's back - knocking him off the catwalk to the factory floor below...

The lone man downstairs spotted a possible out. He hit a button on the wall and heavy steel doors lifted to reveal a line of cargo trucks in the parking lot outside. But beyond the trucks was an army of cops waiting for him to make his move. No go. So he turned. Behind him were other cops - the inside team - rushing at him in full riot gear.

Looking frantically around, he ducked behind a forklift and darted into the adjacent room. Then while sprinting, he fired four shots at the metal chemical tanks on the wall. Immediately toxic chemicals began to gush onto the floor in streams that ran together and began to smoke and sizzle; an acrid mist rising from the ground. But even though the cops were right behind him he couldn't resist taking one last pot-shot at another tank.

The explosion knocked him off his feet.

Cops looked on in surprise as a river of chemicals coursed out into the main refinery. A second later, they went up in flames and a wall of fire bisected the factory floor. The man they were chasing was back on his feet behind the spreading wall of flame but the cops couldn't see him. Ducking behind a huge machine, he hit a switch and sluice gates opened. Chemical sludge began to churn, a large hole in the wall appearing as a gate opened onto the East River. The man smiled. Every chemical waste dump had a back door.

Up on the catwalk, Batman had the perfect view. If the man below could sprint through the flames without getting shot, he would make it to the river. So Batman hooked a rope to another bat-shaped piece of lightweight titanium and tossed it skilfully at a catwalk across the floor.

The man geared himself up, rocking back and forth on his feet. Then he bolted, bursting through the wall of fire - but just as he did -

Batman leaped off the catwalk and swung down toward him - his foot caught a roll of plastic, one of several standing upright on the floor – the roll dropped into the man's path; effectively blocking his exit. And an instant later, Batman landed on top of him, wrapping an arm around his throat and lifting his free hand. Drug tipped talons appeared from the wrist of his black glove, but before he could paralyze the man...

"HOLD IT!"

In all the chaos, another hooded man had managed to circle back behind the heavy machinery. And now he had a gun pointed directly at Chief Gordon's head...

"Let him go or I'll do it."

Batman released his captive and stood back. With plenty of time to himself the man chuckled, strolled across the floor to a ladder mounted on the back wall, and began to climb toward the catwalks. All the action stopped while he climbed. Batman didn't move. The cops didn't move. The man holding Gordon stood still, sweating, his gun hand shaking as he waited for his friend to climb safely out of shooting range.

Batman glanced at each of them in turn without moving; his gaze ending up on Lt. Eckhardt's pig-like eyes as they glistened. After a long moment of indecision his hand dropped to his side. He'd been half-tempted to pull a gun and get Gordon killed, hadn't he? Batman looked sharply upwards again.

At a crouch, the man above them groped his way along the rail of the catwalk. He reached a paneled glass window propped open by a supporting rod but it had to be a forty-foot drop to the swirling black currents of the East River outside. Was he prepared to risk it for his freedom? Apparently so. He was about to climb out when he hesitated, looked down at his feet, and saw a gun abandoned on the grid-work floor of the catwalk mere yards away.

Batman's gaze shifted to the hooded man with one arm around Gordon. With his gun at the commissioner's temple, he was backing slowly toward the door...

"Nobody makes a move. We go out clean."

"ECKHARDT!" All eyes turned towards the catwalk overhead, where the man stood with a .38 in his fist. A Single shot dropped Eckhardt cleanly.

The moment's distraction was all Batman needed. He hurled a small, ratcheted, razor-sharp disc at the forearm of the man holding Gordon. One jerk of a thin filament wire, a sudden shriek of pain - and Gordon was free.

The thug lurched forward. His gun dropped to the floor, discharging on impact.

There was an ungodly howl of pain from the catwalk above, echoing around the cavernous room as the man reeled and staggered, his hands clutching at his cheeks and blood gushing from between his fingers. He'd been shot in the face. Then a young cop, unnerved by the sight of the man's agonized pirouette, drew his gun and opened fire.

"_NO_!" Gordon's voice rang out, "We need him to-"

The bullet caught the man in the arm. He spun...tottered to the edge of the catwalk... and toppled over. The cops looked on helplessly as he plunged two stories down into a catch basin full of bubbling toxic waste; screaming all the way.

Gordon's voice yelled in frustration; "_Goddammit_, we had him. We -"

Suddenly, with the man they'd been trying to catch out of the picture, all attention focussed on Batman. _Gotham's most wanted_. The cops simultaneously reached for their guns, circling warily around him. Cornered; he backed off slowly – his hands on his belt.

"Hold it right there, Mister." Gordon's voice said with more control.

Batman glanced briefly at him then raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. But as the cops cautiously advanced, he flicked two tiny capsules onto the factory floor...

There was a blinding flash of light, colors bursting in a wild pyrotechnic display. The cops stumbled backwards, momentarily dazzled as a thick wall of black smoke concealed Batman from view. It was all he needed. A tiny grappling hook rocketed out of the dense curling cloud and caught on a catwalk overhead.

"LOOK!" Someone yelled.

The cops fired wildly into the smoke, but it was too late. At the end of a cord, Batman whipped upward in a dark blur, rising out of the smoke like an avenging angel and disappearing into the shadowy heights, safely out of range.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Gordon stepped forwards, his gaze on the darkness above them, "Well. You've gotta give it to him; he's one hell of a showman..."

**_Vicki Vale's Apartment – Night:_**

Tossing off her ridiculously high heels and peeling out of her designer labels, Vicki walked barefoot into her bedroom, placed the clothes into the hamper and selected something more comfortable from the drawers in her walk-in closet. Reappearing in comfortable jeans and a fitted tee, her fingers nimbly plaited her long hair into a braid as she stepped to her dresser – then she added a loose band to the end, tugged wipes from a container to remove her makeup and headed for the kitchen.

"Shutters down."

One of the added bonuses of moonlighting for a billionaire was the technology that came with her large apartment. The shutters all silently lowered over the windows while she grabbed a can of soda and a container of cold pasta from the refrigerator. Then she got a fork from the drawer, bumped it shut with her hip and walked across the open plan living room to the small keyboard on one wall. It might have looked like the control for the heating and air conditioning – and it was -_among other things_. Vicki keyed in a code and the wall covered in floor to ceiling floating shelves slid back to reveal a hidden room.

Two minutes later she had all the screens active, the system booted up, the surveillance cameras in and around the apartment online and she was cracking open her soda as she tucked her ear-piece into place.

She smiled. Good to go. Time to check in on the team...

"Watchtower to Arrow."

**_Wayne Manor – Two Hours Later:_**

Bruce smiled as the light flashed on his console. As much as he had debated on the merits of joining the so-called-Justice-League after an accidental meeting with a certain Clark Kent, he had to silently admit the regular check-ins with their coordinator had rapidly become one of the highlights of his week. Though he doubted the woman on the other end of the secure line would appreciate the direction his subconscious thoughts had taken in response to the purely sexual tone of her voice...

No, it was the way she spoke more than the tone. Confident, capable, as intelligent as anyone he had ever met - the cool under pressure, brook no-nonsense type of woman who could convey a seductive smile from wherever she was as easily as -

He hit the button and heard her voice; "Watchtower to Knight."

Bruce lowered his voice to the hoarse rasp she was used to, "_Watchtower_..."

"Well hello," She responded with one of those seductive smiles in her voice, "Quiet night?"

"Nothing more than usual," He leaned back in his chair and tried to picture her in his mind, "What can I do for you?"

The question was voiced in a way that made it plain he was open to several suggestions given the chance. And when she paused for a brief second before answering his smile grew.

But her voice remained calm, "I have an update download for you. Could you deactive that snazzy firewall of yours for me?"

"I could. If you asked me nicely..."

The low chuckle of purely feminine laughter went directly from his ears to a lower point in his gut. Then she ramped it up some by saying a breathy; "_Pretty please_?"

The sound of an answering chuckle of deep laughter surprised even him. It had been a long time since he'd laughed a laugh he hadn't had to put effort into – how long had it been? He stared into the middle distance. _Since before Rachel_...

"Could we do it today do you think?"

Bruce snapped back into the present, reaching for his keyboard and tapping in the code, "Ready."

One of his screens flashed with encrypted coding. And while it did her voice gently asked, "You okay?"

Glancing around the bank of monitors Bruce nodded, "Yes."

"_Ahhh_. We're having one of _those_ nights are we?"

"Why? You have a pep-talk prepared?"

"I have one I used earlier with another member of the team. Reduce, reuse, recycle and all that..."

It brought the smile back to his face, "I believe I'll pass."

"Now there's a surprise." A different kind of smile came through in her voice, "You're no fun tonight..."

If she looked anywhere in the region of how good she sounded then; "Disproving that statement would require a face-to-face meeting Watchtower."

It was the most forward he'd been during their brief conversations and he knew she was as aware of that as he was, but it wasn't a great surprise considering the way they'd talked over the last few weeks. Bruce waited to see how she would react.

"Knight? Are you flirting with me?"

"There's a rule is there?"

"Not according to certain other members of the team; no." There was the sound of a keyboard being tapped in the background and a low exhale of breath that made Bruce mentally picture a loose strand of hair in her way, "Though I should probably warn you if you ask me what I'm wearing right now you'll be the second guy to ask in the last hour..."

An immediate frown of displeasure made him ask; "And how did _he_ fare?"

She laughed the low laugh that effected his libido again, "He's quick off the mark but since he asks the same question every time I talk to him he's a little lacking in originality. Download complete – you can reset the firewall again now unless you have anything you want to share."

"Resetting." Mentally shaking off his bout of possessiveness he decided to hell with it and added, "So what did you tell him you were wearing?"

"Goodbye Knight. Stay safe."

She was incredibly good at her job. Was probably exactly the same with every member of the team. But Bruce wondered if the implication of genuine caring in the warm sincerity of her voice had quite the same meaning to everyone else. Somehow he doubted it. Even if it did make him briefly wonder at how isolated he had become. It was a necessary sacrifice he reminded himself. Someone had already paid the price for becoming entangled in his life. And one was one too many as far as he was concerned. It wouldn't happen again.

Apparently didn't stop him from reciprocating the sentiment; "And you Watchtower."

"Watchtower out."

**_Vicki Vale's Apartment – Same Time:_**

Vicki ended the secure transmission and leaned back in her chair; idly rubbing her thumb over the scar on her arm as she let the sound of his voice echo in her mind. She didn't know what it was about Knight that made him different but there was just... _something_...

Maybe it was because she always ended their short conversations feeling lonelier than she had before she contacted his call-sign. For a brief while when she talked to the members of the team she knew well she could forget everything she had given up and the people she loved who had been left behind. But it was more than that. She didn't know how she knew but she was certain Knight was isolated in a way the majority of the team weren't. It was as if his loneliness echoed hers and magnified it to the point where she felt more tied to him than she did the others – as if he needed to hear her voice more than they did.

There were four new members of the team counting Clark. But she didn't know any more about Lantern or Wonder than she did about Knight. Lantern was always friendly; sharing information equally with the team. Wonder she spoke to less often because the woman didn't appear to be one for technology; a bit like Clark really – who she hadn't heard from since he'd gone to Metropolis beyond reading news about the man Lois had dubbed 'Superman'. The thought made her smile. Oh what she would have given to be a fly on the wall in the Daily Planet when her cousin got the news of her new partner. Poor Clark. Still, Lo seemed fairly impressed with _Superman_, so every cloud...

Her mind wandered back to Knight. Knight who could talk technology to her on her level, possibly above when it came to the newer stuff. Knight who never shared information unless it was vital in global terms. The man with a voice that could send a shiver of awareness up her spine, and probably would have even if he was reading from a telephone directory. Recent security protocols meant she didn't know where he was or who he was or the range/lack of abilities he possessed and Vicki understood why. Didn't make him any less intriguing to her though.

Glancing down at the thumb on her arm she smiled wryly. Keeping the odd scar to hide her own ability was part of her new identity, but that particular one had served it's purpose she felt. So she lifted her hand a half inch, focussed her mind and saw the light forming beneath her palm as warmth washed over the skin on her arm. The scar was gone in a matter of milliseconds. Then she sat forwards in her chair again. Last check of news reports worldwide and time for some shut-eye. Tomorrow was another day. And she had an elusive, arrogant billionaire to hound.

**_Gotham Gazette City Room - Early morning:_**

A banner headline on the late edition of the Gazette read: 'BATMAN FOILS ROBBERY. WHO IS MASKED VIGILANTE?' The article then questioned his motives and whether or not he had actually been a _part_ of the robbery...

Behind the newspaper, feet propped up on his desk, was a jubilant Knox, on the horn to Chief Gordon as he surveyed his front page byline, "Do us both a favor Chief Gordon. Don't tell me some lie you'll have to retract later."

A click sounded in his ear and Knox grinned, lowering the paper to find himself looking up at the smiling face of Vicki Vale, "Mornin' gorgeous!"

"Making friends again?"

He waved his headline at her; "Looks like our friend the bat is getting ambitious. Why the dopey grin?"

"I'll take your headline and raise you a date with Bruce Wayne..." She angled her head and grinned proudly, wrinkling her pert little nose in glee.

Knox's eyes widened, "Bruce Wayne? Date? He called you up and asked you for a _date_?..." He raised his voice and yelled across the room, "HEY MIRANDA! C'MERE!"

When Vicki lifted a brow in question and folded her arms across the jacket of her beautifully tailored emerald green satin jacket he lowered his voice to a more normal level; "I want you to pay close attention to this. Miranda - tell my friend here what you told me about Bruce Wayne."

Miranda Reitz was in the region of sixty, a superannuated southern-belle type and the society editor at the Gazette, "You mean Mister One-Nighter?"

Nodding sagely Knox repeated, "Yeah. _Mister One-Nighter_. Because that's the average length of his relationships with women..."

"The current record is almost two weeks. That cover girl - what's her name? You must've taken her photograph at some stage, Vicki -" Miranda was cut off by Knox.

"Tell her about the peanuts."

Vicki looked amused, "Peanuts?"

"Peanuts." Knox nodded again, "Which is how he goes through women."

"Like Planter's Peanuts." Miranda added.

"Plain or roasted?" She'd kept a straight face for as long as she could, laughter breaking free as she got off the edge of Knox's desk, "I'm very flattered that you've gone out and done all this research for me."

"Why?" Twin flashes of red began to arrive on his cheeks, "Aw, come on, Vick, I'm a reporter. I'm curious. I do this for a living. What'd you tell him?"

"I told him yes." She shrugged one shoulder. Not that she was seeing it as an actual '_date_'. Or that she was telling Knox the invitation to lunch had been extended by Bruce Wayne's personal assistant at the scrape of dawn. Bruce Wayne could think whatever he wanted. She was getting her interview. Even if it meant smiling through gritted teeth for a few hours. The 'date' was a means to an end.

Knox didn't look happy, and wasn't doing too good a job of hiding it. He was sweet really. Vicki shook her head, took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his forehead, "You're a sweetheart to be concerned, but it's really not necessary. I'll call you, okay? Right now I have a press conference to attend."

She left while Knox sat looking pole-axed, "What was _that_?"

Miranda patted him on the head like a puppy, "_That_ was one of the most gracious screw-you's it's ever been my pleasure to witness. She's a class act."

Totally flustered, Knox sighed and sank deeper into his chair and waved the back of his hand in a 'shooing' motion, "Miranda, I'm busy. Go be productive."

Halfway to the elevators Vicki heard a chirruping note from her purse, so she reached in for her cell-phone and opened it to check the text message. Her footsteps faltered, the sensation that the world was suddenly spinning faster around her adding to the violent need to throw up. A shiver of icy cold ran up her spine, her mouth went dry. And all from two little words from her cousin...

'_He escaped_.'

She looked around her at the new home she'd made; familiar faces sat at desks working or talking on the phone – some greeting her by name as they walked by. No. She couldn't do it again. She wouldn't let him take another life from her. Why was she even reacting the way she was. He didn't know where she was. And he would have one hell of a time trying to find her – Oliver Queen and the Justice League had made sure of that. And she wasn't going to look back on what had happened last time either. She wasn't giving him that.

With a lift of her chin she gave herself a hard mental shake and continued walking to the elevators. Lex Luthor had no place in any part of Vicki Vale's life and never, ever would.

_Over her dead body_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

_  
__Gotham Bay – Early Afternoon:_

The sleek cruiser sliced through the waves while closer to the shore, in the distance, a throng of sail boats vied for position; brightly colored sails dipping and billowing as they skimmed the edges of the grey city.

Bruce's forty-foot boat, aptly christened '_Die Fliedermaus_' was undisguised luxury, shining bright white against the blue of the water as Bruce and Vicki sat on deck, soaking up the sun and gazing at the sail boats.

"Do you sail?" Vicki asked him almost absent-mindedly.

"I'm not really the physical type." He calmly informed her, "Thank you, Alfred."

Vicki smiled at the older man as he appeared from below decks with a tray of drinks, then she watched as Bruce reached for his glass. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his forearm looked like a thin layer of skin over braided rope. Not the physical type her eye.

She sipped tentatively at her drink, "This is amazing. What's yours?"

Bruce looked for a split second like he might smile, then he slid the glass toward her, gesturing for her to try a sip.

When she did, her brows lifted, "Ginger ale?"

"I don't drink twenty-fours hours a day, no matter what the tabloids might tell you." With his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses it was difficult to read them, not that Vicki suspected it would be any easier without them. Then he took a short breath and looked out to sea again, "Tell me. There's something I'm very curious about. What took you to Corto Maltese?

"Maybe I felt like a change."

"You were one of the most successful magazine photographers in the city in a remarkably short space of time. Everyone wanted you. Why such a drastic change?"

If there was one thing Vicki had learned in her previous life, it was how to play a verbal game of chess with the rich and quite possibly devious. And there was just something about Bruce Wayne that didn't quite add up. Maybe part of her immediate need to deflect came from the fact he had mentioned her somewhat meteoric rise to success in such a 'remarkably short space of time'. Had he been looking into her background? Why would he do that?

"Have you ever been to Corto Maltese?" She watched thick lashes lowering behind his glasses as he looked her way from the corner of his eye.

"Not since the shooting started."

Vicki tapped into the cover story she'd memorized so well since the trial, "We went there once when I was little. I played on the beach. And at nights - they had a band – I danced with my father on the hotel patio." She shrugged as she looked at the sail boats again, "That was Corto Maltese. When the war broke out I had to go back. And I promised myself this time... I wouldn't look away."

Turning towards her, he reached for his glass, his tone remaining the same; calm, controlled, measured, "What did you see?"

"Terror."

It wasn't a lie. The reason she'd gone there might have been a cover, but what she'd seen and the pictures she took while she was there were all too real - and still ingrained into her brain as clearly as if they were right in front of her eyes in the here and now. She would never forget. It had opened her eyes and put an extra rod of steel into her resolve that the work the Justice League did was important – and needed. Life in small town Smallville, Kansas - home of the weird and sometimes wonderful - had led to an adolescence that was far from dull and an eventful early adulthood but it had been a good grounding. Corto Maltese was something altogether different, and if anything scared her, it was the thought that Gotham had that same dark underbelly – and the ability to be a Corto Maltese on American soil unless someone could stop the more psychotic criminal element…

The conversation was getting too intense for a lunch 'date' on millions of dollars worth of yacht with a notorious playboy. But before she could change the subject, the playboy surprised her;

"There's terror everywhere. Some types are just more – _familiar _- than others."

Vicki blinked in confusion, unable to believe he'd said what he just had. Then he drifted into an almost preoccupied mode, the ice in his drink tinkling against the glass as he turned it in his large hands and frowned behind his sunglasses. What _was it_ with this guy?

She tacked on a smile, "I didn't mean to drag the conversation into doom and gloom. I know it all seems a million miles away, out here on the water, with all this –"

When she waved a hand at their surroundings, Bruce looked at her, his eyes shadowed behind the sunglasses again, "Insulation?"

Was that how he saw it? Vicki had been in the business of investigating stories and getting to the bottom of things for as long as she could remember. It was in her blood, was the very air she breathed. And currently every investigative cell in her body was telling her the reports she'd read about playboy Bruce Wayne were completely at odds with the man sitting across from her. There were… _shadows_… around him. Even in the bright sunshine she was squinting against as it reflected off the pristine white of the boat and sparkled on the waves surrounding them. Not darkness. _Shadows_. Vicki knew the difference all too well.

When he continued staring at her, her breathing changed, her pulse skipping faster with the same surge of adrenalin she normally got when chasing down a story or working with the League. In some way she couldn't quite grasp, it felt like he was challenging her…

"I didn't say what I said to criticize you."

"I think you see things very clearly Miss Vale."

She tried another smile, "I'm happy to talk about something else. I wouldn't want to be depressing."

The smile was lazy, "You assume that if I know you better I won't like you as much…"

"I wasn't aware you liked me to begin with…"

"You'd know if I didn't."

When he stood and walked to the railing, Vicki fought the sudden need to laugh. She knew he was a notorious womanizer, but if what he was doing was his idea of a come-on, it wasn't like any come-on she'd ever experienced before.

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Bruce lifted his chin and breathed deep; as if savouring the clean ocean air. Even dressed in a plain white shirt and dark trousers, he was an imposing figure against the bright blue of the sky. The way he had his feet set a little apart on the deck, as if staking a claim, suggested he was a man completely in control of his surroundings and everything within them. Vicki suspected he'd be formidable in the boardroom if he set his mind to it – not that he ever did, according to any reports she'd seen or read. If anything he had a tendency to fall asleep…

Then he dropped his chin and looked over his shoulder.

And Vicki knew it was her move, "I'm sorry, I have to ask. Are you like this with all the women you meet? Or is it something to do with the fact I'm a reporter? Because I just can't seem to get a handle on this conversation."

A hint of a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth before he turned around, "If I say anything cryptic, or… ambiguous… I think you should put the most flattering possible interpretation on it. Because even if it doesn't sound that way… naturally that's how I'll mean it."

Damn. He was one of the best chess players she'd ever met. What the hell was it with the latest generation of multi-billionaire's? No two were ever the same, yet every one of them seemed to delight in one form of game-playing or another. But for some reason Vicki found herself liking this one. She had no idea why. And it put her on the defence again, "I think you like being enigmatic."

"Or maybe you like that I'm enigmatic."

She lifted her chin an inch, "And if I told you my preference was guys who are up front, lacking in mystery – the kind of men who sit squarely on the nice guy side of the fence?"

"Like your photographer boyfriend?" He glanced briefly out to sea, then looked back at her face, "How long did _he _last?"

Anger rising inside her, Vicki watched his measured steps towards her chair with guarded eyes while she fought to maintain the calm exterior that had seen her through much worse situations than an unwanted pass.

"As a woman who spends her down time in a place like Corto Maltese, I doubt very much a 'nice guy' would hold your attention for long." He stopped a foot away from her, "Why are you here?"

"You know why I'm here."

"For an exclusive interview."

"Exactly."

"Over lunch. On a yacht. Alone with a notorious playboy."

"I've been known to eat in the middle of the day. The location wasn't my idea. And we're not alone. Alfred is here." She lifted her chin another inch, "You've no intention of giving me an interview, have you?"

"No."

"Then I think we're done."

"Are we?"

"In every conceivable sense of the word."

_Gotham City Gazette Offices – Evening:_

"I'm not running away. Not this time."

Vicki lifted her chin to defy them, as she added in a firmer voice; "He already stole one life from me. He's not taking this one too."

She took a deep breath and looked at each of them in turn, "And anyway, if he wants to find me he'll have to get through about five hundred dead end leads and an army of paid up members of a Superhero league – I'd like to see how he manages that one."

"She's all yours," Oliver Queen shook his head and flung a long arm in her direction as he walked past Clark to sit on the edge of a nearby desk, crossing his feet at the ankles and pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, "Call me weak but I'd have given up after the first hour. This is what we get for surrounding ourselves with strong willed beautiful women."

Clark crossed his arms across his chest and Vicki sent a look of derision his way, "You pulling the Clark Kent patented folded-arms-I-mean-business look won't work either," She cocked her head, "It might have more of an effect if you weren't wearing your underwear outside your brand new suit – which, by the way - has a somewhat familiar color combo going on there unless I'm very much mistaken…"

Clark aimed a sideways glance at Oliver from beneath folded brows, pursing his mouth into a thin line when Oliver's shoulders shook.

Vicki looked from one to the other, "Am I missing something?"

Clark looked her straight in the eye, his tone firm, "Like the fact Lex got out of a maximum security wing without anyone seeing or hearing anything you mean?"

She narrowed her eyes briefly at being pushed back to the topic at hand, "Regardless of any Houdini disappearing act he pulled to check out of the best taxpayers hotel in Metropolis, he's been out of circulation too long to put together the all encompassing network he had before. If there was some Machiavellian Luthor plot brewing we'd have gotten wind of it by now. And there's been nothing from any of our contacts, has there?"

When Oliver grimaced, she frowned at him. But Clark beat her to it, "_Oliver_?"

Dropping his chin, Oliver took a deep breath and pushed up off the desk, "There's nothing concrete yet."

"But?" Clark and Vicki asked the question at the same time.

"_But_," He walked over to stand between them, his forehead creasing into a frown as he looked at Vicki, "It might be wise for you to keep a low profile until we connect the dots to see if there's a pattern. There's no way of knowing for sure what Lex was able to do from prison," He shrugged, "And who's to say he didn't have a back up plan for 33.1?"

"Your team eradicated the last of them." Clark said.

Oliver nodded, "We took the last one off the face of the map shortly after Lois broke free to bring the photographic evidence to the authorities. But there could have been a 33.2 or a 33.3 running independently from the main operation. There's no way we can say with one hundred percent certainty that there wasn't."

"So he could have a spare army tucked away somewhere?"

"There's no way to know."

Vicki took a deep breath, nodding slowly before she shot Clark a small smile, "Which is all the more reason for me to stay in the one place I can put feelers out to my contacts. And we can co-ordinate everything my trusty band of cape wearers has through me and I'll have it bouncing off Queen Industry Satellites quicker than you can pull a William Tell or catch a speeding bullet."

"Chloe –"

She lifted an accusatory brow at Clark, who sighed, "_Vicki _– you can do all that in a place where we can watch you better. That's all we're asking. If you won't do it for us then do it for Lois – you didn't see her face when the news broke about Lex. You were her first thought." His voice lowered an octave, "She's frightened for you."

Frightened? Lois? It wasn't that Vicki doubted it – she had the kind of bond with her cousin it was hard to explain to others, and vice-versa – but the thought that Lois had showed that fear? Openly? To _Clark_?! She shook her head an almost minuscule amount at the thought before replying,

"I know she is. But we have this system in place so we can communicate anything if we-"

"Using cell-phones by any chance?"

"How did you know that?" Her eyes widened, "She _told you_? After what, five minutes of you coming back? What did you do to turn her away from the firmly held conviction that you couldn't even be trusted to open a jar of coffee?"

That particular message had amused her greatly at the time. If only Lois knew…

"Yes Clark," Oliver withdrew his hands from his pockets and folded his arms, curiosity written all over his face, "What _did_ you do? You're amongst friends here – you can tell us…"

Clark ignored him in favour of Vicki, "One message then dump it so it can't be traced, right?"

_No way_! She'd _told _him that? Wow. They'd broken every rule under the sun to keep that line of communication open, and she'd told Clark? Clark who she hated? Clark who she'd never forgiven for not being there when –

"I can't believe she told you." Vicki said, "I guess you know about the message boards too then."

"I do now."

She rolled her eyes and turned to walk back around her desk, a small smile aimed his way over her shoulder, "The cell phones are the emergency method. Most of the time we use a secret code on the Warrior Angel fan-site message boards – I came up with that one. Seemed appropriate considering how much time I spend with real life Superhero's. But when something comes up that can't wait we send a single message and then change cells. Been a bad week for Lois' cellular expenditure this week – three have met their demise in one form or another. The one she had stolen – one to tell me not to use the first one - the one today…"

Clark frowned.

"What?" She asked.

"She had her purse snatched."

"Y-e-s, she told me – hence the demise of the second phone," Vicki smiled at him as she sat down, "You'd think with all that super speed you'd be able to keep up with the flow of conversation a little better."

But Oliver had got what he meant even if she hadn't, his arms unfolding as he frowned at Clark, "You think someone was trying to get hold of her cell to check for a link."

Clark looked him in the eye, "It's possible. Lex knows how close they are. And it's not like Lois is hiding so it would be easier to get to her."

Vicki felt her blood run cold.

While Oliver seemed to grow an inch, "Did you dump the phone when she told you to?"

"Of course I did." She frowned.

"If we made an attempt to bundle you up and force you to lay low until we check this out you'll make our lives miserable won't you?"

"If either of you try to bundle me anywhere it'll be over my dead body – which kind of defeats the purpose a little don't you think?" She smirked. But the thought of hiding while Lois was out in the open? No. She couldn't do it. If Luthor wanted her he could come get her. But whatever it was he wanted her for? She'd die before he got it.

Oliver nodded as if he'd already known what her answer would be. Not surprising really when they'd worked so closely together for so long.

Instead he refocused his attention on Clark, "I'll alert the local guy to keep an eye on her and we'll co-ordinate with you if any of the other things start to form a pattern that looks like it might have a Luthor thumbprint on it."

Clark nodded in return, "In the meantime I'll keep tabs on Lois in case he decides to flush one cousin out by taking the other."

_Oh for goodness sake_! No matter how long she worked behind the scenes with Superheroes the levels of testosterone would never cease to irritate her. They took everyone under their wing, considered the welfare of those supposedly 'weaker' than them to be their personal responsibility. And as admirable as it was, Vicki was sick of it. She wasn't some weak, defenceless female in need of rescuing.

"_Still in the room_…" She reminded them.

They both turned to face her, but no amount of staring down at her was going to do any good. So eventually Clark smiled a small smile, turning his upper body towards Oliver and swinging an arm in Vicki's direction, "She's all yours. Call me weak but I already have the other one to keep out of trouble."

Oliver patted him on the back, "Good luck with that."

Vicki smiled and drew a pen out of the holder on her desk, "Well if I'm getting a babysitter for the rest of the evening then some good may as well come out of it. Let's see if a Star City millionaire is any easier to interview than a Gotham City one was, shall we? Lord knows there's no way you can come across any more arrogant than he did…"

_Outside the Gotham Gazette – Late Night:_

Oliver aimed the alarm key at his Maserati, the car blipping in reply while he hit a button on his phone, "It's me. I need a favor."

"What kind of favor? I don't remember a clause on favors in the contract I didn't sign."

"I need you to keep an eye on someone for me…"

_Gotham City Opera House – Following Night:_

The Duke from Rigoletto was on stage, launching into his big crowd-pleaser, 'La Donna e Mobile', while Vicki tried to figure out why she was there.

An avalanche of expensive 'apologies' probably had something to do with it. If any more orchids, unspeakably decadent chocolates, hundreds-of-dollars per ounce perfumes or velvet cased jewellery arrived in her work-place she would need a much larger desk. But that wasn't what had done it…

She let her gaze rove the audience, finding several mobile young 'Donna's' in the crowd - drop-dead beauties in slinky gowns – and although most eyes were fixed, reasonably enough, on the stage, some where staring with undisguised envy at a private box above the orchestra seats. Where Vicki was sat next to Bruce Wayne. Yep, the temptation of an exclusive had always been her biggest downfall… that and her continued fascination with him…

Her gaze found a woman with her opera glasses trained on them. It was oh-so-tempting to –

"Wave if you want to," A deep voice whispered in her ear.

Vicki couldn't help it, she laughed. But when the woman holding the glasses lowered them and scowled, she felt guilty. She wasn't a pawn in anyone's game. So she turned towards Bruce, "You really don't have a conscience, do you?"

"Won't your low opinion of me cloud your interview?"

"I approach every interview from an impartial point of view." She watched as he refilled her champagne glass. How many of those had she had already? She didn't think she'd had that many, but she was certainly feel the effects. Vicki didn't think she'd ever been drunk.

No. That was a lie. There had been that one time with Lois. When they'd sneaked away from the bodyguards the witness protection program had supplied. When they'd refused to say goodbye and come up with a way to stay in contact that was against the rules. When Chloe Sullivan had stupidly taken her cousin on in a drinking competition and ended up-

Suffice to say, after that night? Oliver had called the Government's Witness Protection program every name under the sun that meant useless and set up a program of his own.

"Impartial. Right." He handed her the glass, "And how do you spell that again?"

Vicki frowned as she tried to form the letters in the right order. She could spell impartial. She had excellent spelling skills. Words were her weapon. Words had always been her friend. Words told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but. They put people like Luthor behind bars where he deserved to be, they -

"I. M." She took another sip of champagne and frowned in concentration as the opera singers voices filled the air and transformed the world around her to a thing of great beauty. Funny, she'd never thought of herself as an opera fan, "I. M…"

_Wayne Manor – Late Night:_

Bruce smoothly slid her coat from her narrow shoulders as she walked into the hallway, dropping it onto a large leather chair by the door as she almost tripped sideways and stifled a giggle. It was an under-handed way of 'keeping an eye on her', but until he knew what he was dealing with he would do whatever was necessary to keep her in his line of sight. He'd known there was something different about her. Had known it from the start. But the call from Oliver Queen had confirmed the suspicions he had from the background check he'd run on her before they had lunch on his yacht.

Vicki Vale wasn't all that she seemed. In fact, from what he could tell, he doubted very much a person called 'Vicki Vale' even existed...

But that was part of the mystery. She didn't strike him as a secret keeper. It was the lack of guile, the straight-forward matter-of-fact way she spoke, the fascination with which she viewed things like war zones and the opera. There was still that air of purity to her that suggested she viewed life with optimism, or wanted to. When she'd spoken about the things she'd seen in Corto Maltese he'd seen first hand the effect it had on her. No-one with a dark soul could feel something that deeply…

"It's not fair." She turned awkwardly on her high heels and frowned almost comically at him, a curling wave of pale burnished gold bobbing against her cheek, "I'm half drunk and you're not even –"

"Would you like me to take you home?" He calmly asked her as she backed along the hall.

"God." She frowned at him, "You _would_, wouldn't you? I don't get you at all. I thought you were supposed to be this… this…"

When she waved a limp-wristed hand in his general direction Bruce supplied the words, "Unscrupulous womanizer who would bed you at the drop of a hat?"

Vicki lifted a forefinger and waggled it at him, "_That's it_. What you said."

"As a card carrying member of the press I'm sure you believe every word printed about me is gospel." He wrapped his fingers around the warm, baby soft skin at her elbow and gently turned her around, "It's an occupational hazard, I'm sure."

"Why aren't you drunk?" She sidled closer to him and leaned her head back, "Come on, Bruce. I just want to get two drinks in you. As an experiment."

"Knowing my reputation you think two is all it would take?" He looked down at her upturned face and found himself smiling. There was a playful innocence to her when she was under the influence. As if it was something she didn't do too often, or the softening of her senses had somehow allowed her to shed a great weight from her shoulders.

Bruce could understand the attraction of the latter.

For a moment she forgot who she was with and rested the back of her head against his shoulder, her long, darkened lashes heavy and her lips parted as she concentrated on the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other in her high heels.

Then she suddenly stopped, took an unsteady step forwards, and extricated her elbow with a twist of her arm before turning to face him, "Is there something wrong with me?"

The question caught him off-guard. Something that rarely happened, "Meaning?"

"I dunno," He voice slurred the words a little as she blinked to focus on her surroundings, "Maybe I'm not your type. Maybe you don't – you know – find me remotely attractive…"

It was an open invitation to look her over. So he took it, loosening the bow tie at his neck and undoing the top button of his shirt as his gaze slid leisurely over her from head to dainty toe. The Grecian style gold dress loving hugged her petite curves, leaving enough to the imagination to make it more sexual than anything more revealing could ever have been. Then there was her halo of soft curls, her luminous eyes, the faint flush to her porcelain skin. If incredibly beautiful with that same ethereal glow she'd had the night he caught sight of her in the crowd wasn't his type then yeah, she was unattractive as hell to him. His libido said something different. But she shouldn't be his type. No woman should. His life wasn't conducive to close relationships. And somehow he knew instinctively this woman wasn't a casual affair.

She was exactly what Oliver Queen had said she was.

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers, he stepped forwards as she swayed on her feet, pushing to see just how under the influence she was, "Maybe we should kiss and find out."

Her chin lifted as he got closer, the defiance making him smile again as she cancelled it out by damping her lips in preparation and said, "We could try that. But I won't feel anything."

"We'll see."

In the vastness of the darkened entry hall, framed by long semicircular stairways, a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the large windows as Bruce took his hands from his pockets and set them on her hips to draw her closer. He lowered his head, watching as her eyelids grew heavy. She leaned into him, sighed. But as his mouth hovered over hers and he watched her languid expression – she dropped against him - out cold.

Bruce quirked his brows. The simple sleeping drug in her last glass of champagne had taken longer than he'd anticipated to kick in.

Scooping her fragile frame off the ground and into his arms, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs; Alfred appearing from one of the darkened doorways, "I take it Miss Vale will be staying with us tonight?"

"She will."

"Whether she likes it or not." Alfred stood at the bottom of the stairs as Bruce made his way upwards, "And they say romance is dead…"

"I don't have any more time for babysitting one of Oliver Queen's 'special' friends than I do for romance Alfred. This is simply a means to an end."

"I'm sure the young lady will appreciate the sentiment."

"The lady is no more aware of the fact she's being babysat than I am of why I'm doing it. Something I intend to rectify." He glanced down at her face, her cheek resting against the lapel of his jacket and a soft wave of hair covering one eye, "We'll be looking more closely at her back-ground."

"If you say so."

"I do say so."

_Bruce Wayne's Bedroom – Morning:_

The sun was barely up when Vicki opened her eyes and found herself in a strange bed. Where was she? Wriggling upwards against the soft cushions, she checked below the covers and found herself in her underwear. How had she –

Her eyes widened. Oh dear God _no_.

A somewhat off-key baritone voice drifted out from what she assumed was an adjacent bathroom, making her breath catch in her lungs. Surely she hadn't been _that _drunk?! Had she? And even if she had been, he shouldn't have-

Her gaze frantically searched her surroundings for something to put on, the sight of her dress carefully laid over the back of a wing-backed chair making her scramble to disentangle herself from what she suspected were Egyptian cotton sheets. She stubbed her toe on the end of the bed, swore beneath her breath, hopped on one foot to the chair – then wriggled ungracefully into the dress and left it unzipped, blowing an angry puff of air at a tangled wave of hair as she stormed into the steam filled bathroom.

Bruce was inside a ridiculously large shower stall, still singing to himself as she yanked open the glass door and tossed a towel in his face. With her gaze fixed firmly northwards she set her hands on her hips and let loose, "You sick, twisted, _desperate_ son-of-a-"

He lowered the towel from his face and had the gall to smile at her, "Good morning."

"_How dare you_!"

"Not a morning person I take it."

"How dare you take advantage of me like that! Who the hell do you think you are?!" She cocked her head at a sarcastic angle and kept her angry gaze focussed on his face as he shut off the water and wrapped the towel around his lean waist, "Is this how you get your kicks? You can't win a woman round with your name or your yacht or your expensive gifts so opera and enough champagne to sink a ship does the trick? You pathetic piece of _slime_!"

"Did you wake up naked?"

Vicki's mouth opened then closed. Well no, she hadn't. But she'd stayed the night in his damn mansion, she'd slept in his damn bed, he was naked and singing in the damn shower –

When he stepped onto the tiled floor she took a step back, what looked like amusement flickering across his dark eyes, "Well?"

"I woke up in my _underwear_," She pointed out with an accusatory glare as she folded her arms across her breasts, "How did I get like that?"

"Hmm," Bruce pursed his lips in thought and then took another step forwards, breathing deep when she took a reciprocal step backwards, "And why exactly would I put your underwear back on you after the act?"

Good question. But Vicki continued frowning at him, "How did I end up in your bed? And why are you taking a shower?"

One dark brow lifted, "Well…"

A nod indicated his intention to step towards the sink, so Vicki stepped out of his way while he continued, "_I _put you to bed. You weren't very well when we got here. Don't drink much, do you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, "I slept in the chair. As to the shower – I take one every morning. And it's my bathroom. In my house. You were still asleep. And snoring."

Vicki did what she was quite sure was an amazing impersonation of a fish out of water as he stepped past her, ridiculously choosing the last of his statement to pick up on when words failed her for a little too long, "I do _not _snore!"

"You're asleep when you're doing it, so how would you know?"

"You slept in a _chair_." Sarcasm dripped off the tip of her tongue.

"Not very well, but yes."

She watched as he filled the sink with water and began making preparations to shave, her disobedient gaze roving over his muscled back and discovering a mass of multi-coloured bruises and abrasions, "You get in a fight with your last female house guest?"

Thick lashes rose and his gaze met hers in the mirror; brows rising in question.

So she jerked her chin at his back, "What was she? A hundred pound gorilla?"

"Small parting of company with a polo pony." He informed her, before adding; "I have a very adventurous love life in your fertile imagination."

Vicki avoided his gaze when she realized how increasingly ridiculous she was sounding as the conversation continued. Well what did the man expect? With his reputation and her stupid fascination with him, combined with an uncharacteristic intake of alcohol, she was in completely uncharted territory. Never, in all her born days, had she woken up in her underwear in the bed of a man she barely knew. It was an all time low. And she hated him for it.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"You said you wanted to see the mansion again."

"I didn't mean right that minute!"

"I offered to take you home," He shook a can of shaving foam and sprayed some into the palm of one large hand; his head bowed as he concentrated on what he was doing, "Don't you remember that part?"

She did remember that part. And she remembered being amazed by it at the time. Then she remembered her lack of protest on the way to the mansion. How many glasses of champagne had she had exactly? She didn't think it had been that many…

While Bruce shaved, Vicki sat down on the edge of the large bathtub, blinking into the middle distance as she tried to piece it all together; the occasional sound of sloshing water as he rinsed his razor filling the silence.

Then there was the sound of palms slapping against skin and the scent of an expensive aftershave teased her nostrils, "Do you want breakfast? Alfred is famous for his eggs Benedict."

"No. Thank you."

When he walked into the bedroom, she pushed to her feet and followed him, "So nothing happened."

"Your virtue remains intact."

Not so much. Not that that was a conversation she was likely to have with him, "And you really did sleep in a chair."

"Yes." He reached out for the first item on a pile of clothes that looked like they'd been laid out for him.

As Vicki stepped up behind him, he froze, and then slowly turned on his heel so he could challenge her with another silently amused stare. She hated that he seemed so amused by her. But she turned her back to him and allowed him to dress. Then another thought occurred to her; "Why _your _bed? This place probably has hundreds of bedrooms."

"Fifteen. Alfred didn't have a room prepared. We don't have many house guests."

"I wonder why," She mumbled, then another thought came, "How did I end up in my underwear?"

"I decided you'd be more comfortable out of your dress. Considering your current reaction, leaving the underwear on was a wise decision."

In a weird, alternate reality kind of way, what he had done could almost have been considered gentlemanly. Vicki blinked into the middle distance again at the thought; deciding she must still be groggy from the champagne. What she _might _have considered more honourable would have been if he'd taken her _home _in the first place. She folded her arms again and began tapping her foot on the floor. Call her old fashioned, but she was a great believer in having the choice of who – outside of a hospital emergency room – got to look at her underwear. Not that it wasn't very nice underwear…

"Would you like coffee before we leave?"

"No," She frowned again, gritting her teeth as she added; "Thank you."

Bruce walked past her to his dresser, picking up a watch and sliding it onto his wrist before turning and studying her face as he buttoned the cuffs of his pale blue shirt. When she looked him directly in the eye and lifted her chin, his mouth threatened to curl into a smile again. But again he controlled it.

"I'll drop you at your apartment."

"Thank you." Vicki sincerely hoped sometime soon she would figure out why she was being so polite.

"You should have time to change before you go to the office."

Pressing her lips together she forced herself not to thank him again while he lifted a waistcoat and pushed his arms into it.

"I have a meeting to attend, but when I'm free I'll call you and we can do your interview." He buttoned the waistcoat and reached for his jacket.

While Vicki found herself blinking in surprise, "You're actually going to sit down and do the interview. No games, no yacht's, no opera, no champagne – and with me fully clothed…"

"Let's consider the last one optional, shall we?"

"You just never stop, do you?"

"Are you ready to leave?" He lifted a tie.

Vicki nodded. She'd never been more ready to leave anywhere in her entire life. Okay, maybe once. But that had been a very different situation. On this occasion, the sooner she left the sooner she could try and tell herself it hadn't happened. Or figure out exactly _what _had happened.

A long arm extended in the direction of the doorway, "Shall we?"

_Gotham Gazette Offices – Morning:_

Knox examined the morning edition of the Gazette in a surly mood, his frown aimed at page six - the gossip page – where, under Miranda Reitz's byline, was a picture of Vicki. With Bruce Wayne. Apparently they were the talk of the town after their night at the Opera.

"_Peanut_." Knox muttered in disgust.

A copy boy approached his desk with a manila folder; "Here's that morgue file you wanted."

Knox leaned back in his chair and opened the folder, leafing through the old clippings from back issues of the Gazette; 'WAYNE FOUNDATION TO FUND LOW-COST HOUSING. MILLIONAIRE HEADS CHARITY DRIVE FOR GOTHAM HANDICAPPED. HURRICANE VICTIMS SAY 'THANK YOU' TO BRUCE WAYNE.'

The first two headlines were nothing to do with Bruce Wayne, beyond the fact they referred to his parents. The third was a one-off. Knox sighed heavily. Not what he was looking for.

"Come on. Gimme some dirt!"

Then he noticed something odd. In the fat file of clippings, there were plenty of pictures of Bruce Wayne out on the town, surrounded by beautiful women, rolling drunk out of parties – but there weren't any candids. Not one. That was a rare thing in the modern age of camera phones and a population who could make a buck selling photographs of celebrities. How come? What did the man do between sleeping through board meetings and investing in technologies that never seemed to amount to anything? Didn't he have a life outside the endless round of partying?

"What are you hiding Wayne?" His gaze slid over the clippings as he set the folder down and pushed them randomly around his desk, "Everyone has secrets…"

_Halliday Plaza – Early Afternoon:_

The sunny, landscaped quad was surrounded by corporate skyscrapers; trees, grass, marble fountains, flags of many nations dotted around and within the small oasis. And amid the pedestrians, Bruce and Vicki cut through the plaza on their way to lunch.

"Thought I'd stood you up, didn't you."

"It's not a date Bruce."

"I said I'd call you the minute I got free. I did. And here we are." He stepped around a woman wheeling a buggy, his gaze moving around the crowd in a manner most people would have assumed was random. But Bruce rarely did anything randomly. No matter what anyone thought.

It was why he noticed Philly Ricorso, Gotham's newest crimelord, as he entered the Plaza flanked by a cadre of bodyguards in loose jackets that didn't disguise the holsters underneath them. Bruce's gaze instantly swept the plaza again, checking for anything he might have missed.

A painted street mime walked past, feeling his way along an imaginary wall and making Vicki comment; "All street mimes should be jailed."

"Looks like a convention." Bruce replied.

There were a half dozen of them converging on the center of the plaza as Ricorso and his friends approached the mirrored-glass entrance of a skyscraper. Something was happening, Bruce's footsteps slowing as his gaze zeroed in on the lobby of the skyscraper. A mime – who had been annoying a passer-by – suddenly threw a bolt and locked the doors from the inside. Bruce saw one of the bodyguards banging on the glass. Then his gaze shifted to another mime outside who was reaching into a trash bin and pulling out a machine gun.

When the first scream of terror sounded from onlookers, Bruce reached out and hoisted Vicki bodily off her feet; throwing her behind one of the fountains as a series of shot's sounded.

"_Stay down_." He told her as his gaze darted around the plaza – two mimes with machine guns, one of them lining Philly and friends up against the glass doors, the other holding the crowd back – a woman fainting in the crowd – a third mime imitating her swoon and laughing to no-one's amusement. There was almost sickening sense of familiarity to it. But it couldn't be.

"Bruce – what's going on? Why –"

Keeping his gaze on Philly and his friends and the mimes mimicking their terrified poses, Bruce set a firm hand on Vicki's shoulder as she tried to get to her feet, "Stay there. I'm gonna go for help."

Walking brusquely out of her line of sight, he broke into a run; frantically looking for a secluded spot or an alleyway - _anything_. If he could get a call to Commissioner Gordon he might be able to distract the mimes until a SWAT team got there. But it would be as Bruce Wayne. He was out in the open, with onlookers everywhere - just another citizen – completely and utterly impotent.

Except for a few hand to hand skills he really didn't want to demonstrate in public.

Back door. Maybe there was a way into the building. He darted around a corner, dialling a number on his cell; "Alfred – send this to Gordon; Halliday Plaza – six men dressed as mimes, assume all armed. Hostages taken – Philly Ricorso and three bodyguards."

Men, women and children raced past him as he ran against the tide of bodies, lifting his chin and looking up at the building for a way in while a brilliant sun shone down and machine gun fire cracked through the air. Bruce hoped Vicki had stayed where she was. There wasn't time to baby-sit.

When another mime foolishly walked around the corner, Bruce calmly grabbed hold of his gun with one hand while elbowing him in the face. Yanking the gun free, he spun it round and used the butt to deliver a second blow to the other side of his head; dropping him like a stone while he continued walking - dismantling the weapon and throwing the parts in different directions along the way.

But by the time he got to the back of the building and realized it was the same open glass panelling it was too late. There was more gunfire, Philly and his friends bodies jerking as glass rained down in shards around them to mingle with splatters of blood that rapidly became rivers.

Clenching his jaw until his teeth hurt, Bruce vaguely heard the sound of approaching sirens before gas canisters were dropped, smoke filling the air as the gang made their escape. There was nothing he could do. Not one single solitary thing. Except punch his fist into the glass, stare at the cracked imprint it left behind, and then turn away.

It was all over barring continued sobbing from some of the witnesses as the Gotham PD rolled in and Vicki emerged from the crowd to find Bruce leaning his back against a wall, staring into space, practically catatonic. But when she reached out a tentative hand to touch him, a large hand snapped upwards and grabbed hold of her arm with a grip so strong it could have crushed her bones. It was a reflex action. Technically she'd crept up on him. And that was never a good idea.

"_Bruce_!"

The sound of his name snapped him out of it, his grip immediately loosening and his arm dropping to his side as he blinked at her, "You okay?"

"Yes," She stared up at him, searching his eyes as she absent-mindedly rubbed the place on her arm where he'd no doubt left a bruise, "What happened?"

"People died. Go do your job. Do you have a camera?"

Vicki nodded, "Of course I have a camera, but what-"

"We'll reschedule the interview." Bruce turned and walked away, eyeing the crowd as he ducked under the police tape as it was unfurled. When he was a safe distance away, he lifted his cell-phone again, "Check what satellites were over Gotham in the last hour – use Queen Industries if none of ours were in line."

Back at the scene Vicki watched him leave without so much as a backward glance. The chill she felt run down her spine made her shudder as she reached into her purse for her camera. What the hell _was it_ with him? There was something almost – _familiar _– in what she'd seen in his eyes before he grabbed her arm. And then there was the _way _he'd grabbed her arm; the move had been fast, precise - he hadn't even been looking at her when he hit his target. If she hadn't said his name he could have snapped her arm and dropped her to her knees in the blink of an eye. It was almost military in the execution. And not just run of the mill military either. She'd spent enough time around Oliver and the gang to know special ops type hand to hand combat moves when she saw them.

Moving around the building she snapped off as many shots as she could before uniformed police officers moved her away from the scene. Then she ran across the Plaza and down a block where she could hail a cab back to the office to file her story. The second she was sitting down and had given her destination, she dug out her phone,

"What do you know about Bruce Wayne?"

_Gotham Gazette Offices – Late Afternoon:_

An anchorwoman's voice sounded from the screen behind her as Vicki sent the final proof of her story to the printer; "…live from Halliday Plaza, where a gangland-style execution claimed the life of racketeer Philly Ricorso. Ricorso's death is the third in a rash of underworld killings…"

Swinging her chair around, she looked up at the screen as Commissioner Gordon's face appeared, "Commissioner, you've heard the rumors. Are these murders the work of the vigilante known as 'Batman'?"

Vicki swung away again. She didn't need to hear the answer. She'd been there herself. And if the masked vigilante had been within one hundred feet of the place it hadn't been wearing his usual disguise. He had nothing to do with it – at least not in person. And anyway, Vicki wasn't entirely convinced he was as bad a guy as everyone made him out to be. Skirted the very fringes of the boundaries of the law; yes. But Vicki still believed in the adage of innocent until proven guilty…

"Hiya, peanut." Knox perched on the edge of her desk, "Done with the big story of the day little Miss Right-Place-Right-Time?"

"Yes."

"Good. 'Cos I've got something I'd like you to see…" He casually tossed a file onto her desk.

"What is it?"

"Check it out for yourself."

She already had the file open, finding herself staring down at an old front-page story that read; THOMAS WAYNE MURDERED Prominent Doctor, Wife Slain in Robbery Unidentified Gunman Leaves Child Unharmed.

The background research she'd done meant she already knew what she was reading, but it was the first time she'd seen the photographs that went with it. And having spent time with Bruce it made it more real to her. The photo below the headline had cops kneeling over covered bodies - medics with stretchers - and off to one side, a boy; his small hand held tightly by a young uniformed officer. The boy was staring directly into the camera, his face a mask of silent agony.

Vicki couldn't take her eyes off him, realization lowering her voice to a husky whisper, "I know this picture."

"I thought you might," Knox nodded above her head, "Pulitzer Prize winner. There's a larger copy in the file."

When she didn't move Knox reached a hand down and found it for her, placing it over the one she was looking at.

"His face." It wasn't hard to see some of the adult in him, but it was the child that crushed her heart into a tight ball in her chest, "Look at his face."

Shock and disbelief, those were understandable in a child his age, but it was more than that. He had the look of a child who would be permanently, indelibly traumatized. How could he not? And at the same time, in the enlargement, there was something else in his eyes. Something that made a newly familiar chill run down her spine again.

He wasn't looking into the camera. He was looking beyond it. Seeing something no-one else could see. The exact same way he had when Vicki looked into his eyes in Halliday Plaza…

"He watched the whole thing happen. They died in front of him," Knox tapped his forefinger on the photo, "Recognize the beat cop?"

She did; "Jim Gordon."

"Barely out of the Academy. Interesting, huh? Wonder if Wayne remembers him…"

It _was _interesting, Knox was right. But Vicki was looking at the small boy again. She knew what it felt like to lose a parent when young, but not as violently as he had. How had he ever got over it? _Shadows_. That's what she'd thought that day on the yacht. That he had shadows. Now she understood better. Was he trying to outrun them, even now? Was that the reason for the playboy lifestyle and the lack of emotional attachment?

Then Knox said something that magnified the chill in her spine.

"Something like that - what do you suppose it could drive a guy to?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three.**

_Arkham Asylum – Night:_

He had to know.

Rain poured from an ominous sky as he approached the high railings of the old building in The Narrows; a grey faced man in a long raincoat waiting for him by the door. Batman walked straight past him, into the dimly lit reception area where a receptionist's eyes widened. He walked down long hallways, into the cavernous interior; more like a Victorian prison than a hospital. But he didn't look through any of the doors, even though he was aware of the people who stepped forwards to watch him go by. Some smiled, some immediately stepped back again, some reached through the bars. Batman knew most of them by name. Many of them he had put back in their cells after Rhas Al Ghul and The League Of Shadows had freed them.

A security guard opened the door as he approached it. Behind the mask, Bruce clamped his jaw with determination, telling himself he could face the man inside with more control than he had the last time they'd 'talked' in a cell.

A single bulb shone an arc of light over the table, the man in the shadows as Batman sat down in the chair facing him. There was a tense silence; rain sounding on the roof, Gordon's low voice thanking the guard as the door closed. And the gentle, rhythmical flip of each card as it left the man's hand and was laid on the table in front of him.

"I came to talk." Batman said in a low rasping voice.

The man set another card down.

"I've been thinking about you and me. About what's going to happen to us in the end…" He narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out the man's face in the darkness. Not that he needed to see him. His face was ingrained on his memory – probably for eternity, "We're going to kill each other one day, aren't we?"

Another card was calmly flipped onto the table.

"Perhaps you'll kill me. Perhaps I'll kill you. Perhaps sooner. Perhaps later," He remained still as he slowly and carefully spoke the words he'd played over and over in his mind, "I just wanted to know that I'd made an attempt to talk things over and avert that outcome. Just once."

Another card flipped down.

Batman's hand sliced through the air and caught his wrist in a tight hold on the table, some of his anger making the rasp of his voice harsher than before, "Are you listening to me? It's life and death I'm discussing here. Maybe _my _death…"

He tightened his grip and felt the man flinch as he added; "Maybe _yours_."

The man tugged on his hand.

And Batman's eye's narrowed again. Something wasn't right, "I don't fully understand why ours should be such a fatal relationship. And I don't want your murder on my…hands…"

When he let go, the man lifted his hand and rubbed at his wrist.

_Too quiet_. That was it. He would never have stayed silent for so long. Not when they were 'face-to-face'. And in less than a heartbeat Batman had shoved the chair back, toppling it over as he reached across the table and grabbed the man's shirt; yanking him into the light.

"_Hey_! Hey, wait a minute! Don't touch me – I got rights! You're not allowed to…" His painted face was beneath the light for the first time, eyes wide and filled with fear as his voice faded away,"…touch me…"

Batman's harsh voice rippled with rage, "_Where is he_?!"

Gordon threw open the door as he raised his fist, "That's enough! You know the law's regarding mistreatment of inmates as well as I do. If you harm one hair on his head –"

Hauling the impostor across the table, Batman threw him at Gordon's feet and used a handful of hair to yank his head back so the older man could see his face. Gordon's eyes widened in horror behind his glasses, "_No_."

_Yes_. That sickening sense of familiarity he'd felt in Halliday Plaza. Painted faced murderers. Carnage in broad daylight. He'd known. He'd known in the pit of his stomach but hadn't wanted it to be true. And now the nightmare was beginning all over again…

Hauling the man roughly back to his feet, he tossed him against a wall and stalked towards him, "I'm going to ask you politely just one more time. _Where. Is. He_?"

_Gotham Gazette Offices – Morning:_

Lifting her coffee mug, Vicki turned towards her desk with Knox by her side, "You're insane."

"Disappears off the map for seven years and officially declared dead. Miraculous resurrection, returns to Gotham and who turns up a matter of weeks later? The so-called-Batman. He walks out on his own party - half an hour later, the Caped Crusader turns up in full bat-drag. Sees an execution in broad daylight - freaks out in an alleyway. Why?" He leaned closer to her, "No place to _change_…"

_Damn it_! She'd told him Bruce freaked out at the shooting to put him off the trail, not to add to the list of 'evidence' he was compiling. Vicki frowned, "I know exactly why you're doing this."

"Oh?" He sat down on the corner of her desk as she turned her chair around, "And why am I doing it?"

Sitting down, she set her mug on the desk and wheeled the chair in tight, taking a deep breath before she tried to deflect him, "He's best friends with Jim Gordon. Was a supporter of Harvey Dent. They'd have known if he was Batman. Batman is a vigilante at the top of Gotham's most wanted list. Why would they have risked their reputations? Dent died a hero. Gordon is the cleanest Police Commissioner this city has had in decades. Why would he keep encouraging Batman to do the things he does?"

Knox studied her face for a little too long, making Vicki fear she'd pushed too hard. She knew Knox, and as good a friend as he was, he didn't like being patronized or told he was stupid or put off the scent. She'd done all three since he hit her with his theory. And by dismissing it the way she was without helping him to prove or disprove it logically the way she normally did –

"Okay. I have a confession to make. _I'm_ the Batman."

Vicki rolled her eyes.

"Don't believe me?" He lifted his brows, "Why not?"

"Maybe because I know you?"

"Gordon _knows _Wayne. Dent _knew _Wayne. Why would it ever occur to them that their buddy Bruce puts on a cape at night and goes out looking for –"

"This is pointless." She shook her head and booted up her computer to check emails, "Why in God's name would a man like Bruce Wayne need to don a cape and run around Gotham at night beating people to a pulp when he could pay an army of mercenaries to do his dirty work for him?"

"Lex Luthor thought he was saving the world. Maybe Wayne thinks he's saving Gotham…" Knox shrugged, "Makes him less ambitious than Luthor; granted…"

"Well I'm telling you, I've met the guy - he's not Batman." It was getting tougher by the second to hold her façade in place, especially after the mention of Luthor. But it wasn't like she could tell Knox his billionaire comparison might have worked better if he'd used Oliver Queen instead of Luthor, "He can't sit on a polo pony without falling off. How in hell would he ride around town on that weird motorcycle thing?"

Knox picked up her name plate and idly turned it in his hands, "You know he saved Coleman Reese?"

"Who?" Vicki calmly feigned ignorance.

"That's right, I keep forgetting you're new in town," He set her nameplate down and folded his arms, "Coleman Reese. Was an M and A consultant lawyer for Wayne Enterprises. Claimed he knew who Batman was and went on TV to out him. The Joker put a bounty on his head."

"Why would Batman save him? Wouldn't he rather he was dead so his identity could remain a secret?"

"Batman didn't save him. Wayne did. That's what makes it interesting…"

Vicki called him on his mistake, leaning back in her chair and lifting a brow, "Okay. I'm confused. Now they're two different people again? Make up your mind."

When she smiled Knox smirked in reply, "Funny girl. Can't go out as the bat in daylight, can he? So what does he do? Plants his Lamborghini between a speeding pickup truck and the SUV Reese was in. Claimed he was trying to make a run for the lights…"

"Lucky Reese," Vicki shrugged as she leaned forwards again, "Still doesn't explain why Wayne would want to save him."

"Maybe he cut a deal with him."

"Or maybe he was trying to make a run for the lights, and just happened to get in the way…" She flashed him another smile, "Right place. _Wrong guy_."

Knox frowned, "I'm telling you peanut, your new friend is out of his mind. He's a murderer. The kind who thinks murder is justifiable. He turned on his friend Dent – maybe 'cos Dent figured it out… Next night you call him up and he can't come to the phone, you think about that."

Her gaze followed him across the newsroom, her hand absent-mindedly turning a pen in circles while she thought. The Reese incident didn't make sense to her. It hadn't when she'd found it during her research the night before either - not if Batman was the murderer Gotham P.D. said he was. But then that was part of the reason he caused so much debate, wasn't it? Some said he was a murderous vigilante who'd brought more darkness to Gotham than there'd been before his arrival, others claimed he was a crusader, doing what had to be done to make the city safer – no matter what lines he had to cross. Vicki still hadn't made up her mind. As to the question of whether or not Bruce Wayne was Batman?

Well. She'd be a lot less surprised than the majority of people. It was an all too familiar scenario to her after all. And if Oliver was going to continue dodging her calls…

Setting the pen down, she reached for the phone on her desk. Not that it got her anywhere.

"I'm sorry, Miss Vale. I've given him your messages. That's all I can do."

She sighed heavily, "Please tell him… tell him I'm not trying to make his life difficult. I'd just like to know what's going on. If he doesn't want to do the interview –"

"I'll tell him Miss."

"Thanks Alfred."

Checking her wristwatch, she gathered her things together for her first appointment of the day. If Bruce Wayne had secrets he'd picked the wrong girl to keep them from. He was just fortunate she wasn't the type to jump to conclusions. All she had to do was get to the truth before Knox. If he was right and Batman was a murderous vigilante then she would hand Knox the information for his story. If he was one of the good guys, regardless of whether or not he was one of _her _good guys, she'd run interference with Knox. But either way, if Bruce Wayne was Batman? Vicki would figure it out.

It was what she did.

_Below Gotham Manor – Same time:_

Bruce was sitting less than a foot away when Alfred hung up the phone, face recognition software running on several of the screens in front of him and tagging possible matches on the many surveillance cameras he was tapped into around the city. Not that there was much point.

"That's the seventh time Miss Vale has called. Bit bloody difficult to keep an eye on her if you won't see her."

Bruce's gaze flickered upwards to another screen, "I see her."

The screen automatically changed from one security camera to another as she lifted her bag and left the newsroom at the Gazette. A camera in the hall as she smiled at people she knew. Another in the elevator as she turned and leaned against the wall…

Alfred watched as Bruce's attention returned to the other screens, "You can see her when she gets in trouble too. You won't have broken your word to Mister Queen. But if you're sitting here watching her get hit by a bus you won't exactly have kept it either, will you?"

"What do you suggest I do, Alfred?" He tapped the keys on one of the keyboards in front of him; checking the names of everyone who had been within fifty feet of Arkham in the last month. After all, it wasn't the first escape attempt. It just happened to be the first successful one, "Ignore the homicidal maniac? That went well for everyone last time, didn't it?"

When Alfred didn't reply, he shook his head, "I've been trying to figure out what he intends to do. Why am I even trying?"

"Give it time. He'll come looking for you. He won't be able to resist."

Bruce nodded. He knew that. But he couldn't let it go as far as it had last time. The price had been too high.

"Batman is the only one who can play the game with him." Alfred added as he lifted an untouched breakfast tray, "It's no fun otherwise."

"I don't know him, Alfred. I still don't know who he is any more than he knows who I am," His gaze shifted to the close up of The Joker's face as the facial mapping software continued to take measurements and compare them to every mug-shot on the planet, just like last time, "How can two people hate so much without knowing each other?"

"You don't need to know who he is. You know _what _he is. That's enough."

As Alfred left, Bruce's gaze strayed to the screen where Vicki was skipping in and out of traffic. Even in black and white she glowed in the sunlight like a beacon. She stood out of the crowd. And that was dangerous, especially in a city like Gotham. The best thing Oliver Queen could do to keep his 'special' friend safe was take her away. Far away. Somewhere like New York or Metropolis where there weren't maniacs living in every shadow who would resent the fact she thrived in the light.

The same way a part of Bruce envied it.

_Photographer's Studio – Mid-Town Gotham:_

There were rows of make-up set out in startling profusion in front of mirrors surrounded by light-bulbs as a half dozen beautiful models giggled at their reflections while they gossiped. Behind them, Vicki smiled as she wandered past with one of the few friends she'd made in the city outside of the newsroom.

"…of course, after Corto Maltese, this must all seem pretty tame to you."

Vicki shook her head, "I'll take the work where I can find it, Clare."

"Not like you need the money," Her friend nudged her and winked, "_Everyone _knows you've got your hooks in Bruce Wayne. Let _him _pay the bills. Not like he can't afford it."

"_Everyone _must know something I don't. And I pay my own bills. Always have done, always will."

Clare rolled her eyes, "God, you're such a girl-scout! Come on, Tony's dying to see you."

They found Tony in a corner of the studio shooting a swimsuit layout with four supermodels; at least three of which Vicki was fairly sure she'd seen draped over Bruce Wayne at some point. They all ad-libbed greetings to Vicki as Tony darted around hyper-kinetically, snapping the girls in a series of poses as they laughed and tossed a beach ball.

"Yes, ladies, smiles, show me those smiles, fabulous, tropical smiles" Tony encouraged them loudly in his British accent, "Think Tahiti, I want to see teeth, _yes_, those glorious artificially whitened teeth –"

At first the fact that one by one the models took on a stricken expression made Vicki believe there'd been some kind of pre-shoot talk about what Tony wanted. A little off the wall, but then that was Tony all over…

"My God no, don't stop now, those smiles, I need those _smiles_!" Tony didn't sound like he was getting what he wanted.

Then suddenly the girls were laughing, but not the way the girls in the other room had. The laughter was unnatural, involuntary almost. And Vicki knew instinctively something wasn't right, "Clare? What's going on?"

The laughter died, huge smiles that made the girls faces look like caricatures preceding the twitching of their bodies; like some kind of weird modern dance.

"Yes! Oh baby, _YES_! That's –" Tony's tone changed, "_No_! Too far, too far! Pull back, pull back! What's- _Oh my God_!"

He dropped the camera as Vicki threw her bag to the floor and ran forwards. The supermodels fell like dominoes, shuddering convulsively, their lips drawn back in horrific, frozen grins. Vicki felt for a pulse. Moved to the next girl and checked again. And again.

"_Call 911!_" But even as she shouted the order she knew it was too late. It was too _late_. In the middle of a crowded room, she couldn't do anything about it. Even if she could – there were too many of them - she didn't know what she was up against. And if she revealed what she could do-

As she slowly stood and stared down at the bodies, a chill broke out on her skin. What was the point? Why did she have her gift if she couldn't use it?

"Oh my God. They're dead. They're dead – aren't they?!"

When Vicki nodded, Clare screamed behind her.

_Mid-Town Gotham – Afternoon:_

He was leaning against his sports car when the police finally allowed her to leave; legs casually crossed at the ankles and arms folded across his chest. So Vicki looked up and down the street, squeezed past the police line and walked across to him.

"You okay?"

"No. They died in front of me and there wasn't anything I could do…"

Grimacing, he unfolded his arms and stood tall, towering over her, "There's nothing you could have done."

"We both know that's not true, Oliver."

Glancing briefly around them, Oliver placed two large hands on her shoulders, bent his head, and lowered his voice, "If you'd done that, you couldn't have stayed in Gotham – you know that."

"So my life is worth more than one of theirs?" She shook her head, swallowing hard before she took a shaky breath, "What gives us the right to choose who lives and who dies?"

"We don't make that choice. The bad guys do. It's our job to stop them from making it. Sometimes all we can do is stop them from making it a second time." When she frowned and looked away he hauled her in for a much needed hug, "Come here. Try and remember the lives you've helped save along the way – okay?"

Vicki wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. It felt like forever since she'd last been hugged. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the simple contact, "Even if there'd been no-one in the room, I couldn't have saved all of them, right? That's what you're gonna say next…"

"It was. But you're right, you couldn't."

"I wouldn't have been able to choose."

"I know."

She breathed deep, forcing determination into her spine, "We need to find out who did this."

"We will." She could hear the answering determination in his voice as he squeezed his arms in reassurance, "It's what we do."

Leaning back she looked up into his eyes and managed a more genuine smile, "You're a good friend Oliver. What you've done over the years – it means a lot. I should have told you that. I'm sorry I didn't before now."

Humour sparkled in his eyes, "Why do I feel like we're breaking up?"

Vicki shook her head, "What are you doing here? And more to the point, where have you been? I've been calling you."

"Yeah, I know. I got your messages," He leaned his face a little closer to hers, "All twenty of 'em."

There hadn't been that many and they both knew it. But as she lifted her chin to challenge him about the subject of the messages he looked around them again; his expression more businesslike than before, "Government-type turned up dead at the harbour last night. My contact at the morgue rang to say he had something of interest on him."

"Like what?"

Oliver shook his head, "Not here. You done with the cops?"

"Yes. But I need to file the story at the Gazette," She checked her watch, "I can just about make it."

"I'll take you there."

Less than half a block away, a silent figure watched her walk around the hood of the Maserati and get inside. He'd been watching from the moment she stepped outside, had been there since the first report of the murders came through on the police band. Turning around, he walked to a gleaming red MV Augusta Brutale and swung a denim clad leg over the seat; pushing his helmet onto his head as he gunned the engine. Now that Queen was back in town he could take on his own babysitting duties. It was glaringly obvious what he'd meant when he'd called her '_special_'…

Adjusting his bodyweight to the side as the motorcycle weaved into the traffic, he accelerated while focussing his mind on the stop he had to make before going back to the mansion. Vicki Vale wasn't his problem any more. He should have been happy about that. But he wasn't any happier than he'd been when he was asked to watch over her. Maybe he'd forgotten what it felt like to be happy. Maybe he'd never known. No. That wasn't true. He'd known. But it had been brief.

And he hadn't earned the right to it again.

_Vicki Vale's Apartment – Night:_

"_Shutters down_."

"Why do you need to know?"

"What do you mean, why do I need to know?" She tossed her bag onto one of the large sofas as she turned to face him, "It's my job to know. And if you won't tell me, I'll find out on my own. You know that. _Lights on low_."

"Which job?"

"Both of them." Her jacket joined her bag before she walked to the wall and keyed in the code.

Oliver followed her into the hidden room, "I can tell you Bruce Wayne is one of the richest, most powerful men in the world. He could buy and sell Queen Industries with what would be the equivalent of chump change to him. I can tell you his family made their money by investing in Gotham real estate before the city grew. And I can tell you plenty about Wayne Enterprises, Wayne Technologies, Wayne Biotech, Wayne Aerospace, Wayne –"

"How long have you known me?" Vicki booted up the computers as the wall slid shut behind them.

"Long enough to know you already did an intensive background check on him?"

Pulling on a pair of sterile surgical gloves she held out her hand and waggled her fingers, "Coin."

Mounting it inside a clear cube, she closed the lid, peeled the gloves off and instructed the computers to map it; the mounting turning as green lasers criss-crossed its surface and a 3-D computer generated replica formed on one of the screens.

While the program ran, Vicki sat down and turned her chair towards Oliver, who looked at her from the corner of his eye. So she lifted her chin, "Okay then. Let's talk about Gotham's masked vigilante…"

Oliver's gaze focussed forwards, staring at the screens while he remained silent.

"Is he one of us?" Vicki pushed.

"I can't answer that."

"Can't or won't?" When the computer indicated it was done with the mapping, she set another program running; searching every known coin in the history of mankind for a match, "Let me put it another way – good guy or bad guy?"

Oliver folded his arms, "You tell me."

"_Oliver_-"

He jerked his chin at the screens, "Looks like we got a match."

When the information bounced up, she stared at the screen for several moments without blinking, "How many of these have there been?"

"Three."

"All on government types."

"Yes."

"Same department?"

"Bureau 39."

Vicki blinked, frowning as she searched her memory, "Okay. That's new."

When her gaze went back to the screen a sense of inevitability washed over her. Then she glanced at Oliver and saw his frown. He knew too. The coin was 336 - 323 B.C. - Alexander The Great of Macedonia. And they both knew whose hero Alexander was…

"Where were the other bodies?"

"Washington." He looked down at her, "And Metropolis."

Vicki gritted her teeth,forcing herself not to shiver. She wasn't worried for herself. But when it came to her cousin –

"I'll let Clark know."

She nodded, "I'll look into Bureau 39."

"You're safe here," A large hand settled on her shoulder and squeezed, "Someone's watching over you."

Her fingers stilled, hovering over the keyboard for a second before she folded them into her palm, set her hands on her lap, and turned to look up at him again, "Does he wear a cape and a cowl?"

When she arched a brow in challenge, he removed his hand, "Can I persuade you to leave Gotham?"

"No."

"Do you trust me?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Then don't investigate him."

"Why?"

Oliver shook his head, "I can't answer that."

"Damn it, Oliver," She frowned, "You tell me someone's watching over me – fine – I believe you. Good to know. But I need to know who I can trust in this city. Especially now."

Oliver looked her in the eye, his voice still low, "Nothings changed… first rule…"

She said it with him; "Trust no-one."

"I know you struggle with that. But it's there for a reason."

It was. The first round had taught them how far reaching Luthor's network was; how it pervaded everything from the scientific community to government officials. He had a generation of a head-start on them after all. But she missed being able to trust people; getting to know them the old fashioned way without the aid of background checks so intensive they practically told her what they'd had for breakfast. She looked at people differently now, and;

"It sucks." She shrugged a shoulder.

Oliver's mouth curled into a sardonic smile, "Yeah. But look at it this way – if there's a place where it's easy not to trust anyone –"

"It's Gotham?" Vicki lifted her chin high and gave him a look of disdain, "Careful Mister. That's my adoptive city you're talking about."

_'__Good Morning Gotham' Set – Early Morning:_

"The fashion world was stunned yesterday by the sudden deaths of top models Kelly Lamont, Cheryl Iverson, Daria Collins and Christie Emberg. Cause of death has been attributed to a violent allergic reaction, although authorities have not yet ruled out the possibility of drug use." Anchor Patsy Narita turned to her companion, "Dave?"

"Thanks Patsy. Plans continue for the city's 300th birthday celebration. The four-day event kicks off with a party for Gotham's elite at the Fluegelheim Museum this evening and will conclude with the unveiling, in Gotham Harbor, of the newly restored 'Lady Gotham'…" A sheet of paper was passed across the desk, "This bulletin just in. There have reportedly been nine more deaths across the city –"

To his left, Patsy began to giggle.

Dave frowned at her, "This is hardly the time to – _Patsy_!"

There was a crash and suddenly Dave was out of his seat, his expression horrified. The camera panned to Patsy, who had gone into convulsions; she jerked out of her seat, staggered across the set – and began laughing uncontrollably. Technicians immediately rushed the sound-stage in an unrehearsed frenzy while she spun round and round in circles, then lurched backwards over the news desk, in spasms – a grisly grin etched across her face as she stilled…

"Kill the feed! _Kill the_ –"

_Fluegelheim Museum – Evening:_

A Gotham landmark, the Fluegelheim looked like something Frank Lloyd Wright would have dreamed up. Inside, a large open atrium was encircled by a stucco ramp, which spiralled up along the interior walls to the ceiling four stories above. The upper terminus of the ramp opened on an airy, fern-filled dining room popular with tourists and elderly matrons who worked up an appetite looking at art during the day. But it had been transformed for the evening; a string quartet playing Vivaldi, waiters serving champagne and Gotham's elite out in force for the event. Not evening dress like it had been the first night Vicki met Bruce in the same place but it was a similar crowd...

"Looks like you've been replaced peanut."

Vicki lowered her camera and looked across the room, where Bruce Wayne had made his entrance with a Hollywood actress on his arm. Arching a brow she raised her camera and continued taking shots of the crowd, "Who Bruce Wayne spends time with is none of my business."

Knox smiled as he shadowed her, "You know if you need a shoulder to cry on…"

"Don't you have a story to chase somewhere?"

"Who says I'm not chasing one now?"

The man was like a dog with a bone. Not that Vicki didn't understand why, and not that having Oliver tell her to back off Batman hadn't left her investigative genes twitching twice as bad as before. And not that she hadn't already bent her promise to Oliver some... It was those missing seven years; they were too tempting.

Looking through her lens she watched as a smiling Bruce leaned close to whisper something into his companions ear. The beautiful woman laughed, turned to press her body closer to his as he wrapped an arm around her waist; she laid a hand on his chest…

And Vicki looked away, "People are dropping like flies all over the city and you're still chasing a hunch?"

"Multi-tasking sweetheart. Women aren't the only ones who can do that." He leaned closer, "And speaking of which… I do believe I can see our police Chief. Try not to miss me too much."

A while later, Bruce checked his watch again. He'd been there for almost two hours. That should suffice. And he'd given the impression he was a little worse for wear, had been loud enough to make sure everyone would remember he'd been there, had circled the room and shaken enough hands to encourage larger donations to whatever the cause was for the evening; his work was done. But even as he gently steered his date towards the door, his gaze strayed across the room. He'd known where Vicki was from the moment he'd walked into the museum. His gaze had even clashed with hers for a brief moment. And the way she'd looked back at him told him exactly what she thought of his behaviour.

There had been a time when it would have mattered to him. When he'd have felt the sting of being looked on as worthless and bringing shame to the family name. What they saw, wasn't him. He'd once told himself that inside, he was more - that he could take comfort in that. Rachel had told him it wasn't who a person was underneath, but what they did that defined them. And for a while he'd been able to put the two together and still recognized himself; inside he was more, what he did defined who he was. But since his first run in with The Joker…

It felt like the two had been at war.

At the door he glanced back one last time. And saw her expression change. She reached into her bag and took out a cell-phone; a small frown forming on her face as she read something off the screen. Then she glanced around her while putting away her camera and slipping into the crowd.

Bruce moved into a better position and saw her heading for an empty hallway. She lifted the cell-phone to her ear, her lips moved to form the words; "_It's me_."

Chasing a story? Phone call from Queen? When her gaze swept the room again, he turned around and watched her reflection in the glass doors as his date waited for her coat. While he pushed the door open, Vicki backed away. As he stepped outside, he looked over his shoulder and saw her looking up at the next floor. Where the museums offices were…

"Patience is a virtue," Vicki worked on the lock with both hands, her phone trapped between her ear and a raised shoulder, "Well if you'd waited a half hour I'd have been at my own terminal instead of breaking and entering to use somebody else's, wouldn't I?"

When the bolt released, she checked the hallway again before slipping inside, "That's funny. Oh _great_."

With the light on she could see what she was working with, "I'd have been quicker going to the library and researching it the old fashioned way. No. But they're not exactly state of the art. Gimme five minutes…"

Setting her bag on the desk, she replaced her phone with an earpiece, booted up the computer, plugged in a memory stick and sat down, "Okay. Tell me what you need. And keep in mind this is a satellite free zone and the internet speed isn't gonna be worth squat..."

Twenty minutes later she was packed up, and was checking everything was exactly as she'd found it. Content, she closed the door behind her, slipped back down the empty hallway and returned to the party. She didn't realize it was too quiet until she stepped into a room full of bodies.

Her eyes widened. What the -

Looking around, she hunched next to the first body lying twisted at odd angles and checked for a pulse. Alive. And the next one, and the one after that. She exhaled. Then the doors swung open and in strolled a group of men wearing masks; some of them carrying large cartons. Following them - a man in a purple suit, with grotesque clown's make-up on his face…

Vicki quickly stepped behind one of the large ferns, reaching into her bag and hitting a miniature locator beacon, just in case.

The entry doors were locked as they began producing large cans of black paint and their leader tossed a couple of canapés in his mouth; chewing open mouthed as he stepped onto the ramp and examined the artwork with an appreciative eye.

"Okay, boys… let's broaden our minds…"

He stopped in front of an Ingres Odalisque. Standing back a pace or two to get a better look, he angled his head as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a knife and flicked it open, "No, no, no… amateurish at best…"

He casually slashed it from one side to the other.

Then he ambled further up the ramp, spinning the knife in dexterous fingers as he stepped over collapsed bodies and paused at every fourth or fifth painting. Monet water lilies – "_Too green_." A Degas ballerina – "_Not enough movement_." All of them got the knife treatment. Millions upon millions of dollars of artwork gone in the blink of an eye. And behind him his cronies threw black paint on all the canvasses he'd missed…

He cocked an eyebrow at Edvard Munch's The Scream, "Now _this one_ I like."

Vicki leaned back against the wall as the overhead lights winked out and the room took on a eerie glow from the full moon shining down through the glass ceiling of the atrium. She knew who the art critic was. She'd been pretty new in town when he'd tried to tear it apart at the seams but she knew he was -

One of the goons stepped over to a painting close by and caught sight of her, so she tried making a run for it. But she didn't get far. A tin of paint was thrown under her feet, an arm circled her waist – and she fought, she fought hard – she even managed to get a few punches and kicks in. But the next thing she knew she was being spun round and The Joker was ambling towards her; still casually spinning his knife.

"Well _hel-lo_, what do we have here?"

Vicki struggled against her captors, her feet and arms flailing until her arms were caught in vice-holds and one of them was twisted painfully against her back.

"Gently, _gently_," He lifted a gloved hand and squeezed her cheeks together with a thumb and forefinger, holding the knife to one edge of her mouth, "I don't think we've been introduced…"

"I know who you are."

Angling his head and leaning closer he looked her over with the same hyper-critical eye he'd used on the artwork. So Vicki struggled again, trying to free her face from his grip while he smiled, "Feisty little one. I like that. And who might you be?"

The arm behind her back was twisted higher, making her gasp before she defiantly looked him directly in the eye, "Vicki Vale."

"Vicki Vale, Vicki Vale… Vale…" He shifted his gaze upwards and rolled his tongue over his lower lip, "I'm an admirer of your work Vicki Vale."

Turning the knife so the flat edge of the blade rested against her cheek, he smoothed it back and forth over her skin as he continued, "Such pretty pictures of Corto Maltese. The panic. The bloody skulls. The armless screaming people... you know, the at-_rocities_."

"Somehow, when you shoot it," He swung an arm upwards in an arc, "it's a work of art. So clean - so lovely…"

Breathing erratically, Vicki tried to stay calm. She knew there was no point reasoning with him or debating, or arguing, or using sarcasm. No - not with a lunatic like him. How in hell had he got out? And why hadn't it made the news?!

"I live for beauty. I look around at Gotham - this little city of mine - and it makes me sad." He rolled his tongue again, "We don't have anything as beautiful as Corto Maltese. What this city needs... is beautification… kind of a big makeover…"

He pressed the tip of the knife to her skin as she tried to pull back, "One man _can _make a difference…"

Bile rose in her throat as she forced herself to keep looking him in the eye without struggling or flinching. If he was going to kill her there wasn't anything she could do about it. If he was going to play with her she wasn't going to add to his pleasure by showing fear. Even without his horrific facial scarring he was a monster. He saw himself as some kind of deranged visionary. And she'd met at least one of those before.

"Maybe I'll have you keep a visual record for me. Yes, I like that. A little before-and-after kind of thing." He shuddered with exaggerated delight, "Just think of how beautiful the pictures of Rome would have been as it burned… Taking the pictures as Gotham burns could make your reputation, Vicki Vale… You'd be almost as famous as me!"

"Go to hell."

"Oh no no no no _no_…" He lowered his voice to one octave above a whisper and carefully enunciated the word, "Why go to hell, when I can bring hell... _to me_..."

Rocking his weight from one foot to the other, he stepped closer; moving the tip of his knife so he could point it at his face, "Shall I tell you how I got these scars? You see my dear old Mom wanted me to-"

A skylight shattered in a hail of glass and a dark, caped figure dropped to the floor.

"And here's a Batman..." The Joker sighed as goons fell one by one. Then he tossed her captors in the way and reached for her, "Always crashing the party..."

Vicki moved fast in the chaos, spinning out of the Joker's reach as Batman threw another goon to the ground, lifted an arm and fired a metal spike into the adobe wall next to the ramp. There was the sound of a line spinning off a reel on his belt, he reached for Vicki with one arm as he kicked the Joker in the stomach - then he plunged over the edge of the ramp, and straight down…

The Joker spun and kicked wildly at his goons as they got to their feet, "Get em, get em, _get em_!"

The goons on the ramp opened fire as Batman and Vicki plummeted past them; the flash from their guns creating a strobe effect in the dim light. But they were moving too fast. Batman held a gauntlet over his head, the rope whistling through it until they jerked to a stop a couple of feet above the ground. He released it. They dropped. And as they ran to the door, Batman threw what looked like two small metal balls onto the floor. They rolled to the foot of the door, blew out the glass and Vicki ran outside while Batman lobbed a smoke pellet behind them before following her.

"_Get in the car_!" He told her in a low, gruff voice.

"Which one?" She suddenly felt stupid as she looked down the alleyway he'd steered her towards, "Forget I asked."

Scrambling into something that looked like a cross between a miniature tank and – well, nothing else on earth frankly – she was immediately confronted by a stunning array of electronic gadgetry. _Nice_.

"_Ignition_."

A small display lit up as he barked the command, registering his voice-print in the same way the equipment in her apartment did before the word 'ignition' flashed; engine revving as Batman vaulted into the cockpit alongside her and sections of the roof folded in on themselves. Through darkened glass, Vicki saw the Joker's gang stumbling out of the museum with their guns in hand. They were hacking, coughing, blinded by smoke – and then they were firing indiscriminately and diving out of the way as Batman barrelled out of the alley.

The Joker emerged, mumbling as the vehicle tilted violently to the side and made a turn, "I want him... I want him... I want him..."

He climbed behind the wheel of a van, those of his goons still standing running and jumping into the back as he sped down the street behind Batman. Sirens howled, the noise echoing across the city streets as police cars converged on the Fluegelheim. And as their vehicle roared out into the city traffic, Vicki saw flashing lights approaching them,

"Look! Police!"

"I called them." Said the gruff voice.

He had? The man at the top of Gotham's most wanted list? He had to know he'd be hunted down. As if to confirm her thoughts, a police car whizzed past, tires skidding as it did a one-eighty and set out in pursuit of them. Batman floored the accelerator in response; the high pitched whine of the engine going up an octave.

The Joker's voice sounded from part of the console, "All Units! Southbound on Riverview!"

"Who is he calling?" Vicki frowned.

Neither of them could see the men in cars or the thugs in Italian restaurants or the crooked cops in coffee shops. But Bruce could almost sense the flashing lights, the beepers going off all over the city as, within seconds, The Joker's army of filth raced onto the streets eager to join the chase. How did he have so much influence, that was the question. He had to have had help. And Bruce didn't see it coming from the mob; not after last time…

As unmarked vehicles converged with cop cars, the new upgraded Tumbler streaked through an intersection, almost causing a pileup. The Joker's van made short work of a Hot Dog stand in its path and kept on going; pedestrians gawking as the Tumbler ripped on and off the pavement to keep ahead. Then they moved onto an empty block – a night construction team's heavy machinery backing towards them slowly and inexorably; blocking the intersection.

"Hold on." Batman's seat slid towards her, then he dropped forwards onto his stomach and disappeared partially beneath the console; gunning the engine and swerving left as there was a burst of flame from the front of the Tumbler and the treads of the large machine were blown off.

Then he pulled a one-eighty; wide tires screeching on the tarmac before the high pitched squeal of the engine went up another octave and he sped towards the oncoming vehicles in pursuit. He wasn't seriously going to –

Vicki felt herself pushed back into her seat, her stomach lurching as there was a sudden bang of another engine firing and they drove straight over the roofs of oncoming cop cars. Up and over – down with a bang. And again, up and over and down with a bang; the vehicles to the rear of the convoy veering left and right to get out of the way – crashing through barriers, into walls and sliding into each other…

When they were clear of the last Batman slid backwards again, rising into an upright position and shooting her a brief, sideways glance from behind his mask.

"Insurance companies must love you," She commented dryly.

He made a sudden left turn into an alleyway, turning off the lights as they slid into the darkness and narrowly avoided the beam of a searchlight from an overhead helicopter, "We're getting out."

They came to a silent halt as Vicki's brows rose, "You're gonna try and outrun them on foot?"

When the roof slid back, he jumped out of the car and looked around them while Vicki tried to extricate herself, "Too many people on the streets."

Vicki landed on her feet beside him, "Can't we –"

"_Shields_."

With a series or clangs, the roof slid back into place and plates began inter-locking like liquid metal; creating a smooth reflective surface that made it even more difficult to see the vehicle in the dark. Then Batman grabbed her hand and they began sprinting through another construction site, vaulting over mounds of loose dirt and concrete rubble. In the near distance behind them sirens continued to sound, red lights blazing as three police cars overtook the Joker's van and bore down on the construction site.

"Westbound on 36th." The Joker's voice said over the airwaves, "Do you copy? Get 'em… get 'em…get 'em..."

The van did a discreet U-turn behind the police cars and rumbled off at a sedately pace down the street as Batman and Vicki cleared the construction site and zigzaged past store-fronts and candy stands, dodging astonished pedestrians as people pointed and screamed. Then a car slowed, reversing as the occupants spotted them,

"_There they are!_"

The Joker's voice answered, "I want his head! Bring me his head!"

Batman looked over his shoulder as they raced down the sidewalk – the car gaining on them and a spray of gunfire zinging over their heads. Yanking on her arm he dropped them behind a parked car, then looked around – spotting a blind alley. The car slowed, Batman glanced upwards and saw a catwalk spanning the width of the alleyway five storeys up,

"How much do you weigh?"

"A hundred and eight? Why?"

The car got closer as he unclipped something from his belt and grabbed hold of her hand again, "_Run_!"

Gunfire ricocheted around them as they ran into the alley and Batman lifted an arm above his head; sending a wire rocketing towards the catwalk and yanking to make sure the grappling hook had taken hold as he grabbed Vicki around the waist and swung them off the ground.

The Joker's thugs piled out of the car as the spring action reel on Batman's belt jerked them into the air; his cape flapping out behind them. One storey, two storeys, three… and then…

Vicki frowned as they began to slow, then stopped; dangling in mid air as the goons advanced below and fired off bursts of gunfire in their direction. Batman wriggled, twisted, tugged on the line at his belt - they lurched upwards another few feet. But then they stopped again. They were sitting ducks.

"Whatever happens," His gruff voice told her; "Don't. Let. Go."

"Why? What are you-" She looked down as he unhooked the reel from his belt, made a loop around her waist with the line, and hitched it onto itself, "_No _– you can't –"

He let go.

Vicki rocketed upwards at blinding speed, shrieking in protest as Batman plummeted downwards; his cape snapping out into a rigid frame that slowed his descent enough to break his fall. But not by much. And as she slammed into the catwalk and bobbed on the end of the line, he landed with a crash; overturning a row of garbage cans as the goons descended on him. There were enough of them to take a limb each as he recovered from the fall. While he lashed out, he managed to slam two of them into the wall. But before he could get to his feet…

Struggling free of her tether and swinging her leg over the railing onto firmer ground Vicki looked down and saw Batman hit repeatedly over the head with what looked like a lead pipe. When he hit the ground, two shots were fired at his chest at point blank range. Vicki gasped as his body jerked. _No_! There was no reason why she should feel the flash of anguish she felt, or like each one of those bullets had embedded in her own body. But she did.

The men moved closer, circling him warily, "No blood. Can anyone see blood?"

"Jesus."

"Wait a minute." One of them stepped tentatively closer and moved the edge of the cape to one side, "What is that? Some kind of body armor?"

"Take the mask off."

Overhead, Vicki pulled herself up onto the roof of the adjacent building, leaning over the edge and watching transfixed as one of the thugs bent over to remove Batman's cowl. There was a small, sharp burst of light and he fell backwards, making the rest of the men jump, "What the –"

She had to stop them. Then she remembered the bag slung across her body, and reached inside for the only weapon she had at her disposal.

"Use the end of the gun." The men stepped closer again, one of them edging the muzzle of his gun under the bottom edge of the cowl and peeling it back as the other's warily watched.

They stepped closer, obscuring any view Vicki might have had, "Look – there! He's bleeding from his nose…"

"Who _is _this guy?"

"I dunno."

"We'll worry about it later." The man peeling back the mask stepped back and cocked his gun, "Even he can't survive a bullet to the head…"

A flash of light exploded from overhead. Then another. And another. Startled, the thugs looked upwards as another camera flash illuminated their faces.

"_God-damn_, it's the woman!"

"Hi guys!" Vicki waved down at them. Then a chunk of ledge chipped off mere inches from her head as they opened fire on her. She ducked back behind the overhang, holding the camera over her shoulder and out over the ledge as she kept flashing off random shots.

Batman's eyes winked open.

The flashing stopped, so Vicki fumbled in her bag for another memory card, the goons below still firing on her as she changed the cards over with astonishing dexterity; reaching into the bag again for a telephoto lens.

When there was no response from her the men lowered their weapons, "Did we get her?"

"Who cares? Wax the freak."

They turned their attention to Batman as a gloved hand snaked out with lightning speed – grabbing one guy by the edge of his jacket and pulling him directly into his friends line of fire. When he slumped, Batman threw his body backwards over a garbage can in one fluid motion, reaching for the other man and cracking his forehead on the nearest wall. Then he spun, punching the third man in the throat and kneeing him in the stomach on the way down. Five seconds after he'd first moved, he was alone in the alley with the last of them. Who had a shaking gun pointed directly at his head…

Batman smiled. And the man turned and ran.

As he righted his mask, frowning at how much the men might have seen, another series of flashes lit up the alley from above. Looking upwards he shook his head at the sight of a telephoto lens pointed down at him.

When there was silence, Vicki dared a peek downwards into the alley. Limp goons everywhere. And in addition to that, The Batman, leaping upwards and grabbing the edge of a fire escape as he climbed up to meet her. So Vicki thought on her feet; she might have a clean shot of his face. She grimaced. But she'd promised Oliver…

_To hell with it_. She tucked one memory card into her bra as she scrambled to her feet and looked around for an escape route. He was likely to want the pictures she'd just taken, wasn't he? So she scurried across the roof, away from the alley. She should have a minute or so before he got there. And it was only a three-foot drop to the next roof. So she slid over the edge, hung on until the last minute, then dropped; remembering to bend her knees on impact, and then she quickened her pace to a run, tossing a glance over her shoulder every few feet. But somehow - and she'd be damned if she could figure out _how _- she ran smack into him. Oh he was _good_.

"Not even a 'thank you'?"

Vicki stepped back from him and raised her chin, "You should thank _me_. You were as good as dead."

"That's because you lied about your weight." He narrowed his eyes behind his ominous mask. Then, to her surprise, she got a gruff; "Thank you."

Okay. Wasn't expecting that one. But neither was she being intimidated by his presence. So she nodded curtly and tried to walk past him.

He grabbed her arm, "I'll have to ask for that camera."

Vicki laughed in his face, "Oh, I don't think so."

"You know I can take it."

"I know you can _try_," She angled her head, "I was distracting them. I wasn't trying to get a picture of _you_."

Batman looked down at the camera hanging from her neck, the way his gaze lingered on the increased rise and fall of her breasts making Vicki swallow hard and damp her lips.

His gaze lifted, "Please."

_Please_? How many murderous vigilante's said _please_? Vicki angled her head again and studied him, trying to figure out if what she could see in the dim light and with a mask in the way matched up to what she knew about –

"I'll take it if I have to."

"Well, you're gonna have to. Because I won't let you have it." She smirked at him, "Sentimental value…"

He smiled menacingly.

And Vicki stepped backwards, "I know you can break my neck and take it. But the Joker's men are on there and I –"

"The Joker is a homicidal maniac. And you were as good as dead. So –" He stepped towards her.

"Look, I appreciate what you did for me. But this is my job. And I'm keeping these pictures." She glanced over his outfit for a weak point. Wasn't looking likely. So she looked around for an escape route.

"All right, here's a compromise." He stopped less than a foot away from her, "I'll look at the pictures. You keep the ones of the Joker's men and I'll delete the rest."

"How do I know you won't delete all of them?"

"You don't."

Still cautious, she did what she'd always done, and trusted her instincts. Still looking up at him, she flipped open the base of the camera and removed the memory card – holding it up between her thumb and forefinger.

His gloved hand closed around it, holding onto her fingers for a brief moment before he let go, "Thank you, Vicki."

Her heart rate increased as he slid the card into his belt, "What now?"

No reply. Then he reached for her, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and drawing her close as she looked into his dark eyes. His free hand brushed her hair back from her cheek, ran delicately along the line of her cheek…

Then something snapped underneath her nose and the world went dark; her body slumping against his.

Minutes later Batman emerged from a side street, carrying Vicki's inert body in his arms. He paused and peered around the edge of a wall at the Tumbler; two blocks down. It was still there, the shields still in place. But to his frustration the vehicle was swarming with curiosity seekers and a dozen police officers; an enormous three-ton caterpillar winch rumbling up the street.

Setting Vicki on her feet and holding her in one arm, he spoke into his wrist, "_Shields open_."

Two cops where crawling over the hood when the steel plates begin to re-set.

Batman spoke again, "_Ignition_."

"There's somebody in there!" One of the stunned officers yelled.

They both tumbled off the hood as the engine turned over, roared to life, and the Tumbler began to move; cops and onlookers clearing a path. Some of the officers pulled the civilian back as others opened fire on it, but it kept going – picking up speed as it approached the end of the block, screeched around a corner and disappeared. Pandemonium broke loose in it's wake as the cops bolted for their cars.

Passersby stared slack jawed as the Tumbler tore down the street, darting through traffic, dodging buses, cutting off taxis and rolling from side to side with each move as a squad of cop cars took off in pursuit.

Batman scooped Vicki back into his arms as it rounded the corner and approached him at speed; homing in on his transmitter. He stepped directly into the beam of the headlights, holding his ground and waiting. Brakes squealed, the Tumbler lurching forwards as it came to a halt a yard away from him and slid open the roof to let him in. A moment later it was closing over their heads and Batman was driving away at speed. The sound of sirens built, lights flashed and the chase began all over again as cop cars peeled into place behind them.

Glancing briefly at his passenger, he issued a command; "Call Arrow."

While the engine whined as he manoeuvred through traffic, the out-of-place sound of a simple dial tone filled the cockpit.

"To what do I owe the honour?"

"Where are you?"

"Out of town."

Bruce gritted his teeth in annoyance, "Your special friend tried to take photographs of me."

"She there now?"

"Sleeping."

There was more screeching of tyres as the Tumbler made a sharp turn into oncoming traffic and Oliver added; "Have you got the camera?"

"The memory card. I thought we'd agreed she wouldn't investigate me."

"So did I," There was what sounded like resignation in his voice, "She's gonna kick my ass for this. How many cards did you get?"

Dropping into the lower position Bruce fired twice and made a gap in the concrete wall of a bridge they were approaching, "How many are there?"

"If I know her, at least two – more likely three."

Great. And it wasn't like he could search for them was it? Not when he was driving at over a hundred miles per –

He gunned the boosters and made the jump through the gap onto the freeway below as Oliver asked; "Did she get your face?"

"Maybe."

"You know if you'd just let me tell her you're on our side…"

"I want her out of the city."

There was a brief pause; "No can do. Right now she's safer where she is."

"The Joker is out."

"You need help?"

"I don't want your people in my city."

"Yeah… about that…"

Flooring the engine; the Tumbler's boosters kicked in again, the cops killing their sirens as Batman disappeared into the distance in excess of one hundred and forty miles an hour and left the city limits, "The rule still stands."

Satisfied they didn't have company any more he pulled off the main road and killed the lights, sliding back into an upright position and slowing down as he looked across at his passenger again. Her long lashes forming dark semi-circles against her alabaster skin and a soft wave of hair against her cheek begging to be brushed away, she looked completely out of place inside a machine built for battle. She didn't belong in Gotham, and seeing her with a knife held to her mouth –

Bruce was beginning to lose his temper,"_I want her out of the city_."

"Look…" Oliver's voice said in the silence, "You can trust her. I'd trust her with my life. And have done. Several times. She's special."

"So you've said." Bruce tugged her bag from underneath her; rifling through it and discovering a second memory card, "I have two memory cards. Where will the third be?"

The voice on the other end of the line sounded amused, "If there's a third one and there's shots on it. I'd say it's stashed somewhere on her…"

Bruce looked for pockets in her jacket, searched them and got nothing. He gently rolled her from side to side to check her skirt. Nothing. And any second now he was going to remember why it was he'd agreed to join this so called _League_. They were more trouble than they were worth. And he had enough to deal with.

"You find it?"

"No."

"I'm not gonna ask where you looked. That way if she asks; I know nothing."

Checking the countdown clock on the console, Bruce realized he was running out of time. The sedative would wear off soon. And he couldn't take a chance, "Tell me who she is."

"You know who she is."

"Who she really is. I know her name is a cover."

"Blue said you were good."

"Tell me who she is or I'll have her on a plane to an unknown location inside the hour and you'll never find her again."

"Trust is a two way street."

"Pick a hemisphere."

After a long pause, Oliver sighed heavily. And Bruce got the last answer he'd expected; "She's Watchtower."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

_Outside Gotham – Night:_

The Tumbler roared along a deserted stretch of road lined by ancient tall pines on either side. Inside, Vicki was gradually coming round. She took a deep breath, blinking her gaze into focus. Then she realized where she was, and more importantly _who she was with_.

"How long have I been out?"

"I took the scenic route."

"Well, I've certainly enjoyed it." She wriggled into a more comfortable position and circled her head clockwise then anti-clockwise to ease the tension in her neck from sleeping awkwardly, "You drugged me, right?"

Instead of an answer, he punched a button on the console in front of him.

Which begged the obvious; "What's that for?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Occupational hazard."

At the side of the road, two fallen trees surrounded by under-brush slowly lifted into the air. Hydraulics? Behind them a hidden road; pretty overgrown apart from the track down the middle, covered by a canopy of branches so it couldn't be seen from overhead. The guy knew how to cover his bases. And if she had a rear view mirror or a back window she could have looked out she'd bet the trees were lowering back into place.

When they made the hairpin turn, Vicki glanced at the console. Sixty miles an hour. The vehicle had barely rolled to the side as it did it. She knew at least three guys who would sell a kidney for one of these.

"Not giving me the 'your place or mine' option I take it."

As they cruised down the hidden road, branches occasionally catching the sides of the vehicle, Vicki surreptitiously studied Batman's profile. She knew in her gut he wasn't a murderer. And she'd learned to trust her gut instinct a long time ago. Even the term 'vigilante' was a stretch. A vigilante didn't call the cops, a vigilante wasn't concerned by the number of innocent people on the streets during a car chase, a vigilante didn't say please and thank you. But he wasn't exactly a guardian angel either. He was too dark for that. Darker than any of the guys she worked with in the League. Vicki wondered if he was that way for a reason or if it was simply part of the disguise meant to put fear into the hearts of -

"Up on the roof - how did you know my name?" She frowned as the question left her lips.

He glanced briefly across at her, then focussed on where they were going.

"How did you know?"

Still no reply. And for some reason she could feel a ripple of something in the air. Anger? What the hell had she managed to do to make him angry when she'd been unconscious? Still frowning, she looked out through the darkened wind-shield, and saw a waterfall straight in front of them. It was a dead end. Unless she was very much mistaken it was a dead end with a deep body of water at the bottom of it and a big chunk of rock behind the curtain of water filling the deep hole. And he was accelerating…

"What are you doing?" Wide-eyed, she looked across at him. Then the engine noise went up another octave; the high pitched whine filling her ears as the wall of fast flowing water rushed towards them, "Are you insane?!"

With the same sense of time slowing down people experienced when something awful was about to happen, she saw the small window in front of her fill with dark, rushing water. But just when basic instinct made her close her eyes and grip her hands tight to whatever she could find, she heard the boosters kick in and there was a moment of weightlessness as they were propelled off the ground and into the air. A dash of heavy water sprayed over them, there was a bone-jarring jolt as they hit the ground again, and then the vehicle screeched sideways and came to a halt.

The roof plates were sliding open when she blinked her surroundings into focus. They were in a cave?

Scrambling ungraciously out of the cock-pit as Batman walked across the damp, uneven floor on long strides, she confirmed her suspicions. They were definitely in a cave. But it was huge. The walls rose up all around the cavernous expanse to an almost cathedral-like ceiling where the shadows seemed to move. And for a moment Vicki convinced herself she could hear the beating of wings. She turned on her heel, her head tilted back as she squinted into the darkness to try and discover where the noise was coming from. Bats? Bats would make sense in a cave. They were fitting companions for the man who had stepped up onto some kind of platform…

When Vicki followed him, her eyes widened. Holy crap. It was _spectacular_. A vast bank of state-of-the-art computers made her mouth water. What looked like the kind of crime lab the F.B.I. could never get government funding for made her think enviously of how many times she could have used it. A fully-equipped workshop with varying mind-baffling things in different states of creation, it wasn't just the biggest and best secret clubhouse a boy could wish for (and she knew several 'boys' who would have a bad case of equipment envy if they ever saw it) - it was the equivalent of Carlsbad meets Norad.

"You do know you could erase a country's national debt with what it cost to set this place up?" Her voice bounced off the walls of the huge cave.

Batman remained silent; his back to her as he reached up to unclip his dark cape before laying it over the back of an office chair.

As he started to peel off the layers of his suit, starting with his gauntlets and moving on to the arms, Vicki followed him towards a row of matching suits and ran her gaze over them, "Kevlar?"

"Better."

Well at least she got a response. That was a start.

He stripped off the top half of the dark suit and tossed it down, tugging a jersey off and reaching for a replacement as he turned towards her. When he realized she was looking at him, he froze, stood his ground – and let her look.

Vicki's gaze travelled downwards over his toned chest to the two large bruises in the center of his chest and what looked like a healed bullet wound on one side of his ribs – the sight making her frown before she briefly allowed herself to look lower over the kind of six-pack that would make most women weak at the knees. Frowning harder at the flush of warmth that danced over her skin in response, she swallowed and sharply lifted her gaze to the dark eyes that were studying her from behind the mask,

"Doesn't protect your head the way it should, though, does it?"

"That's why I wear a target on my chest."

Dragging her gaze from the intensity of his, she glanced at the bat-shaped insignia on the suit hanging closest to her; mentally weighing up the odds of someone trying a head-shot at some point. Then she turned away and walked back to the bank of computers, her fingertips trailing along the edge of the sweeping desk as her eyes shone with appreciation. Now _this_ she could work with. The screens that were active showed satellite imaging of the city, links to Gotham P.D.'s security cameras - and then she saw an image capture of The Joker's face being mapped and run against a database that looked very similar to the one she had for the League…

She glanced across at Batman as he hauled the replacement jersey over his head and walked towards her as he pushed his arms into the sleeves. Then she looked at another screen where some kind of cellular comparison was running and a realization hit her; "You're working on the murders."

"Yes."

When he stepped over beside her, she watched as long fingers typed a set of instructions into one of the keyboards before he walked around the desk into the laboratory. When she followed him, to put it mildly, she was awed. Gaping at millions of dollars' worth of equipment, she saw him check the robotics that were running tests inside Perspex cases without the aid of human interaction, "What are you looking for?"

For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer her. Frustrated, it crossed her mind to ask him why he'd brought her there in the first place. But before she could form the words, he glanced at her from the corner of his dark eyes as if he was sizing her up. Then he walked back towards the computers and spoke in the deep, rough voice that for some reason suddenly felt familiar to her,

"That one is measuring fluorescent polarization of the chemicals and substances found in the victims blood and hair samples." He pointed at another case as he walked past it, "This one is running gas chromatography and mass spectrometry - identifying the chemicals by their molecular structure."

"Where did you get the samples to work from?"

He didn't answer.

Which was a shame, because Vicki suspected they could have an interesting conversation if he chose to trust her any further than he could throw her…

When she joined him at the desk, he was typing instructions into another keyboard, so her gaze automatically searched the screens for information or a data stream she could follow, "Got anything?"

"It's a designer drug. Highly sophisticated. There are elements of Lovastatin; it blocks the production of cholesterol and lowers blood levels."

"High cholesterol is the least of the victims worries."

Sneaking another glance at his profile, she saw what almost looked like a twitch of amusement on the corner of his mouth, "Lovastatin is found in another drug that's known to cause muscle spasms. But finding the cause of the muscle spasms was easier than finding an explanation for why they literally died laughing."

Her gut instinct kicked in with a twist of her stomach, "You think it's The Joker, don't you..."

"Yes. The question is how. And why. Whatever plan he has won't necessarily make sense, but there'll be one. I need to decipher it before he can do as much damage to the city as he did last time."

"You could have killed him, you know." She turned ninety degrees and rested her hip against the edge of the desk as she looked up at him, "You could have killed the Joker tonight."

"He would have killed you first."

If she hadn't known it already, she knew now; "You're not a vigilante."

His chest rose and fell beneath the dark jersey as he took a carefully measured breath, "A vigilante is just a man lost in the scramble for his own gratification – he can be destroyed or locked up…"

"But if you devote yourself to an ideal and they can't stop you, you become something else entirely. Right?"

When he jerked his face towards her and studied her with narrowed eyes she smiled a small smile, "You might work outside the law, but you do it because sometimes that's what it takes."

"You believe that."

"About working outside the law?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm," She pursed her lips in thought and studied a point in the air over his right shoulder as she inhaled through her nose then wrinkled it before answering, "I'm gonna take the fifth on that one…"

Dark eyes were staring at her when she looked behind the mask again, but even without the mask she doubted she would have been able to read his expression. He exuded control, probably wore another mask beneath the mask she could see. One that did more than hide a secret identity…

When she lifted a brow in challenge he turned his attention back to the screens.

So Vicki glanced up at what he was studying, "Cosmetics?"

"A commonality between victims. The drug may have been absorbed through the skin."

Impressive. Vicki couldn't help but respect the way he was piecing it together, "No more make-up then. If that's the case we'll all be showing our true faces."

She looked straight at him to see how he would respond to what was practically a direct request. But he was either too preoccupied with what he was doing, or hadn't picked up on it. Somehow Vicki doubted the latter…

"I've cross-referenced all the brands they had in common and tracked all the records. Every shipment, every warehouse, every loading dock. Nothing. No opportunities for tampering. If it's in the cosmetics then somehow the Joker is supplying tainted ingredients… at the source."

"Wait." She looked at the screens again, "You've tapped into all the corporate databases you want? Just like that?"

"I let the FBI do that. Then I tap into the FBI."

"Naturally, because that's _so_ much easier," She knew. She'd spent as many hours running searches in the FBI database as some people spent Googling. Then a hint of flapping from the ceiling drew her gaze upwards again, "How'd you find this place?"

"Stumbled across it when I was a boy."

The fact he'd volunteered the information made her gaze jerk abruptly to his profile, where she saw a muscle clench in his strong jaw. Hadn't meant to tell her, had he? But she pushed anyway, "You don't mind the small furry companions?"

"They don't come down. They don't like the light."

There was a subtext in there somewhere. Vicki wondered if the idea for his disguise had come from his boyhood discovery, "I used to be scared of bats when I was a kid."

"They used to terrify me. I came back and confronted the fear."

It didn't surprise her. She was more surprised that he'd told her. Then she tried to picture a scared little boy confronting his fears that way and found herself thinking about a photograph of another scared little boy…

Which lead her to ask, "Who pays for all this?"

"I have sponsors."

"More than one?" She saw the muscle in his jaw clench again, "The computer system alone looks like it's miles ahead of anything available to the man on the-"

When the thought entered her head, her heart forgot a beat and then took on an erratic rhythm to make up for the deficit. No. _No way_. She stared up at his profile with wide eyes as she sucked in short breaths of cool air. It couldn't be. No way was this man… and if he was and he was Bruce Wayne too… _no way_…

The silence caught his attention, so he turned to look at her; her stunned expression making his eyes narrow again, "What?"

Vicki closed her mouth and swallowed hard in an attempt to moisten her dry mouth. There was no way in hell he could be the guy she'd been talking to for months. Not _her guy_. Her gaze flickered away from his eyes to the computer screens. Yes, they'd talked computers and he'd surprised her with his knowledge and the fact he seemed to be ahead of the game when it came to technology. But her guy had been fun to talk to – he'd even flirted with her some – and she'd been calling him last each time she checked in with the team because she looked forward to talking to him - because –

She damped her lips, her voice low when she spoke, "This thing must have one hell of a firewall…"

When her gaze flickered to meet his again so she could check for a reaction, he stood a little taller and looked back at her with the same unwavering gaze as before, "I'll take the other memory card now."

"I already gave you the memory card."

He folded his arms across his dark jersey, "You gave me _one_ memory card."

"What makes you think there's another one," She folded her arms over her breasts, subconsciously protecting the card she'd hidden.

"You're a reporter. Reporter's can't be trusted."

"Says the man wearing a mask…"

The quirk of her brows was met with a tense silence which irritated her even more than the thought he might be who she thought he was and wasn't trusting her. Had he known who she was all along? Was this who Oliver had watching over her? Why was it okay for him to know who she was and not for her to know who he was? A woman who'd spent a large portion of her life keeping secrets and protecting other peoples secrets should theoretically have been more understanding. But while he was stood in front of her, staring down at her with those dark eyes and not showing so much as a glimpse of the guy she had loved talking to once a week…

"Fine." With a sigh of frustration she unfolded her arms and waved a hand in the direction of his macho transportation, "There's another one in my bag with the camera."

"I have that one. But since neither of the cards I have will have photographs on them, I'd like the one that does…"

How did he _know that_?! How long had she been unconscious? Just where exactly had he searched! The expression on her face must have said it all, because he added; "Since it's not in your bag or your pockets, it follows that it must be hidden somewhere closer. You can hand it over voluntarily or I can search for it. Your decision."

Despite the fact he'd just allayed her fears about patting her down when she'd been unconscious, his attitude ratcheted her annoyance up a notch. Intimidation might work with other people but she wasn't other people. And even if he knew who Vicki Vale was, there was no way in hell he knew Chloe Sullivan. Chloe Sullivan who had dealt with people driven insane by their abnormal abilities before she'd even graduated from High School - who had gone head to head with billionaire megalomaniacs convinced it was their destiny to save the world at all costs, alien Generals seeking to rule the world with terror, artificial intelligences determined to absorb the world's knowledge before destroying it…

And a guy dressed as a bat thought he was going to intimidate her? She almost laughed. Heck, even if he killed her, it wasn't like she would stay dead, was it?

Her chin tilted to a sarcastic angle as she smiled sweetly and held her arms out to her sides, "Go ahead. But just so you know – when you literally come up empty handed – there's gonna be a '_My Night With Batman_' expose which will make you look like a complete idiot and severely dent this whole dark and dangerous thing you've got going on. _Your decision_."

For a moment he continued staring at her, then there was an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders and he unfolded his arms, "Fine."

But instead of walking away he stepped towards her, grabbed hold of her wrists, pushed her arms behind her back – and the next thing she knew she was being turned and leaned backwards over the desk. Her eyes widened as she struggled against the large body that moved closer to trap her in place, "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Making a decision."

"Don't you dare-"

"Where is it?"

It wasn't the fact that his rock hard body was so close to hers. It wasn't that his face was close enough for her to see the determined glitter of his dark eyes. It wasn't even the fact that he was rearranging her arms behind her back so he could hold her wrists in one large hand and free up the other to search with. Or the fact her pulse was racing and the realization of how much stronger than her he was physically was even more blatantly obvious than before. It wasn't any of those reasons that made her change her mind.

What made her change her mind was the tingling sensation that started on her skin and began to radiate inwards in warm waves; building inside her body and growing like a balloon being filled with hot air. She knew what it was – but the fact she hadn't had much time to experiment with it made her wary of letting the sensation continue to grow. Because if it did, and she couldn't control it…

"Let me go," The voice that came out of her throat was deathly calm and completely flat, "I'll give it to you after you get away from me. If you don't, I won't be held accountable for what happens next."

And she wasn't kidding about that either.

When she focussed her gaze on his shoulder and concentrated her attention on keeping the building energy inside her under control, she felt rather than saw him studying her. There was no way he could know what she was experiencing or how she felt, but he had to know something was wrong. If he wanted to think he'd intimidated her into giving up the battle of wills then so be it. She'd let him have the victory this time. But there was no way she would ever forgive him for putting her in the situation in the first place. And if he _was_ who she thought he might be, he'd taken something from her she could never get back. There was no way to explain that to him. Not when she couldn't explain it to herself. It almost felt like… a _loss_…

Inexplicably; it _hurt_.

As threatening tears stung the backs of her eyes, he let go of her arms and stepped back. So she took a moment to close her eyes and focus on her breathing while she reached inside the 'v' of her blouse and retrieved the memory card. When the sensations in her body calmed down, she opened her eyes and held it out to him, her voice still flat,

"Happy now?"

He glanced down at the small card held between her thumb and forefinger. Then his gaze lifted and searched her eyes.

When he didn't take it she lifted it higher and quirked her brows.

"Delete any pictures of me. You can keep the rest."

"What?" She stared at him in astonishment.

"Use the terminal behind you."

Vicki watched him walk back to the rows of suits, unable to believe what she was hearing. By allowing her to delete any of the pictures she found of him, he was gambling on there not being any where she could see his face. Was he so sure there weren't any there? Did he know something she didn't? Or was he trusting her? Was that what it was? Maybe he wanted her to know. But if he did, surely he would just come right out and tell her? It wasn't that difficult, especially if he knew who she was. It didn't make any sense.

But if it _was_ his way of demonstrating trust…

Dragging her gaze from the tall figure suiting up again, she turned around and sought out a slot for a memory card. A few seconds later, she located which screen she was linked to and went through the shots. There were plenty she could use on an article about The Joker's men attacking Batman in an alley. If she had any proof they were The Joker's men. And if the article couldn't have been used to take an anti-Batman stance. Then she hit the series of shots taken when his mask had been pulled back. Out of focus, out of focus, one of the men in the way – wait – that might be one. Of course she would have to tighten in on it and clean it up some. She certainly had the software, literally at her fingertips, to do it, but –

She looked across the cave to where Batman was snapping the sections of his suit into place with his back to her. He wasn't even watching what she was doing. He _was_ trusting her. Vicki looked back at the screen, the tips of her fingers hovering over the keys. And immediately her thoughts went to the man she had talked to during her weekly check-in with the team.

'_Every search for a hero begins with something he requires_,' Knight had said during one of their short conversations. Vicki didn't remember what had brought the subject up, but she remembered it had been the first time she'd learned something about him that made her want to know more. Someone told him that he said. And when she asked what the something was, he'd answered; '_A villain_.'

It struck a chord. Because it was how they all got started. Every hero she knew, everyone she worked with in the League – they'd all started on the path they were walking because they'd been called to it by a villain or a villain in the making. They did what needed to be done. It was just that simple. In the League they banded together, but even though Vicki knew a part of it was because they were stronger together than apart, she also thought an equally big part was that together they weren't alone. The only way to have any sort of a life was to have a secret identity – to keep secrets from everyone around them, even if they were close to those people. There was no avoiding the fact it was a lonely existence, and it took a certain kind of person to do it. But Knight had always seemed more alone than the rest of them, even as a team member he was still isolated and introverted. At the start Vicki had thought it was because he was new to the team and had yet to form the bond of trust some of the original members had. But it was more than that. A big part of it was trust. And whether or not she liked him much as Batman or Bruce Wayne – if they even were one and the same - if it was _Knight_ standing not far away from her, she wanted him to know she could be trusted. That every member of the League could depend on her for a reason.

Suddenly the picture she was looking at felt like a test…

So she deleted every photograph on the card, removed it from the slot and set it down beside the keyboard before turning away from the screens.

Batman was clipping his cape back into place when she stopped a few feet away from him and took a chance, "Bruce?"

The hand on the cape stilled, then he turned his head and looked over his shoulder, "Did you say something?"

They both knew she had. But she didn't push; "I'm done."

"I'll take you back to Gotham."

They walked in silence across the cavernous cave, down the step, and climbed into the heavy duty vehicle. But before the roof closed, he turned to her; his voice low and rough but more intimate in the confined space than before, "Here."

Vicki looked down at the small capsule in his gloved hand.

"There aren't any long term effects."

She looked up at him. At the dark pools of his eyes, at the mouth below the mask. Then she reached out and took the second test from his fingers, looking back into his eyes as she lifted it up to her face, broke it in half and breathed deep.

A hand reached out to cradle the side of her head as she passed out, then Bruce gently laid her cheek against the back of the seat and reached across for the strap that stretched across her lap to hold her in place. Bending over her, he caught the scent of her shampoo; a combination of lavender and chamomile. Calming scents. But a different kind of calmness to the emotionless tone she'd used when she told him to let her go. There had been a flash of something in her expressive eyes before she changed too. Something that looked like fear, but he'd known instinctively wasn't fear of him. She'd been too prepared to engage in a battle of wills moments before it happened for him to believe she was intimidated by him. So what made her back down? Was it the fact he'd been prepared to use physical strength against her? He wouldn't have hurt her. But he would have retrieved the memory card if he had to. Though considering where she had it stashed in the end, it was maybe as well it hadn't come to that…

Even Bruce Wayne the playboy billionaire would have drawn the line at getting that personal with another man's woman.

He wondered if she'd been Watchtower before she got involved with Queen. Had she known his secret identity before she got involved? If she was already the League's co-ordinator then it made more sense to Bruce. For Queen to have got involved with her before that would have been selfish. Not that Bruce knew how many risks the man took, or the kind of people he was up against. Nor did he need to know if it didn't effect Gotham. The only reason he'd allowed Clark Kent to talk him into liaising with them had been a chance meeting in Gotham when the man had used what he called his 'abilities'. Bruce doubted there would have even been a discussion of it hadn't been for the fact he was dressed as Batman at the time. And even then it had taken several lengthy negotiations and the introduction of Oliver Queen, who Bruce knew from business circles and was able to investigate – _thoroughly_ – for him to consider taking a calculated risk. Getting men used to guarding their secret identities to come to any kind of middle ground when it came to the subject of disclosure, hadn't been easy. But the thing Kent had been fighting in front of Bruce's eyes that first time…

If there was so much as the slightest chance more would come to Gotham, Batman needed to know how to fight them. Once he'd known there were worse enemies, co-ordinating information with The League had seemed like a necessary evil. Dealing with Watchtower had made it somewhat easier. There'd been a time when he would have used the word 'enjoyable'. But that was before the complication of meeting her and developing an unhealthy fascination with her.

He had no idea why he'd just trusted her the way he had.

Turning away, he fired up the engine and turned the Tumbler in the wide arc required to allow it to get up to speed to make the leap to the outside world. Clenching his jaw, he remembered the soft tone she'd used when she said his name. His _real_ name. Just how much investigating had she been doing? How much information had she got? The one stipulation he'd been immovable on with Kent and Queen was that his identity remain a secret from the rest of the League. No-one was supposed to know Knight was Batman. Hell would freeze over before anyone would know Batman was Bruce Wayne. It was why it had taken so long for him to make his decision. Kent had spent a year travelling the world before Bruce agreed to a trial period…

He could pinpoint the second she started to piece it together. Her comment about a firewall had merely been confirmation. He should never have brought her to the cave. So why in hell had he? If she connected the dots between Knight and Batman it was only half the puzzle. Calling him Bruce while he was wearing the suit? That was a big problem. Something told him she still wasn't sure. But not only was she an investigative reporter – she was the co-ordinator of a secret army; she gathered and distributed information. And from the conversations he'd had with her as Watchtower he knew how intelligent she was. So it was just a matter of time.

Accelerating off the turn and firing the boosters, he hit the ramp at the precise speed to make the jump through the waterfall and back onto the narrow laneway. Then he focussed his gaze ahead and let his mind work on the problem sleeping beside him. Trouble was; she was as much of a liability out of sight as she was in it. The League members obviously trusted her, so maybe knowing she was Watchtower was part of the reason he'd trusted her in the cave. But it was out of character for him. He didn't trust people he didn't know. Hadn't in a very long time. So what was it about _her_?

The Tumbler passed the sensors buried in tree trunks either side of the lane, a flashing light on one of the small screens in front of him indicating that the outer barriers would be rising in time for him to drive beneath them. According to the satellite imaging constantly linked to the Tumbler, he had clear roads to Gotham. It was late, so it was no great surprise. All he had to do was get through the streets undetected, find a place to conceal the Tumbler near to her apartment, break in and leave her behind.

Once she was safe, he would do the usual patrol and check for signs of The Joker. Then he would take the Tumbler to the underground bunker in the city and work through the rest of the night the way he always did.

A decision on what to do about Vicki Vale could wait till morning.

_Vicki Vale's Apartment – An Hour Later:  
_

Vicki woke with a start, sitting upright and feeling breathless and disorientated until she realized she was in her own bedroom. She glanced down at her clothes. Still there. Well that was a step up from the last time she'd woken up disorientated, she supposed. Then the thing that had woken her rang again, so she reached for the phone on her night-stand; her hand momentarily freezing in mid-air as it occurred to her it might be Bruce calling. Three rings later, she lifted the receiver, and to her amazement, seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

A voice sounded at the other end of the line; "Vicki…?"

"Oh, you have a lot of explaining to do Mister!"

"I just wanted to check you were okay. You didn't answer your usual phone."

Meaning they weren't on a secure line. But there was no way he was worming out of this one; "You know where I've been?"

"I'm gonna hazard a guess and say 'out'."

"Believe me when I tell you, you are way too deep in trouble right now to make with the funnies!" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and discovered her shoes had been removed when her toes hit the carpet. Blinking down at them she frowned as she tried to form a mental picture of Batman considerately taking her shoes off...

She shook her head, "Where are you?"

"I'm out too."

Meaning he was somewhere doing something involving a bow and arrow. Vicki sighed heavily in frustration, "Call me on the other line when you're done. Don't make _me _call _you_."

"And now we're an old married couple."

"Go do whatever you're doing." She headed towards the walk-in wardrobe in search of clothes she hadn't had an adventure in, "And keep in mind that while you do it? I'll be on my computer. Following up on the kind of story that would get me the front page of every major newspaper on the face of the earth…"

"I'll call you later."

"Thought you might."

Hours later Vicki was on her fifth cup of coffee and staring at the screens in front of her. It had taken a lot of digging, but there were too many coincidences for her not to make a picture out the puzzle. She started with what she'd seen in the cave. Equipment that specialized didn't come cheap, but a man like Bruce Wayne would hardly need to worry about money. So on one screen she investigated Wayne Technologies and Wayne Biotech, while on another she hacked into the Gotham City power grid to see what kind of an electricity bill Wayne Manor ran up every month…

When she discovered Wayne Technologies had the contract to supply computer equipment to the FBI she had coincidence number one. Naturally Wayne Aerospace had satellites, so she mentally ticked that one as coincidence number two. Hacking into Wayne Technologies, or any of the Wayne companies databases for that matter, proved a pain in the ass. Excellent firewalls she presumed.

The power grid got her nowhere. Creating his own supply of electricity? She wondered if the waterfall would generate enough with the right equipment…

Going by Batman's distinct lack of trust, and with the knowledge she had of how Oliver got things done without people finding out, she then started checking shipping records. With a great deal of perseverance and a clue of what she was looking for, she hit pay-dirt during her fourth cup of coffee. Via Singapore, through dummy corporations from a Chinese company – large orders – separate parts. Oh he was _really good_. If she hadn't known what to look for, she would never have found it. The League could pick up pointers. And Knox would have had a field day if he knew what she knew. He'd been right about the coincidental rise from the grave of Bruce Wayne tying in with the first appearance of Batman. Which led her to wonder if he was right about what started it…

By the time Oliver called back on the secure line she was wired on caffeine and the thrill of the chase, so she skipped the preliminaries; "Bruce Wayne is Batman. That's who you've had watching over me."

"Is it?"

"How much money would you like to owe the IRS this year?"

"You promised you wouldn't investigate him." He parried back at her, "The same promise I made to _him_ when he agreed to a trial period with the League."

"He's on a trial period with us?"

"No. We're on a trial period with him."

"Who the hell does he think he is?"

"He has trust issues. We've all had them at some point."

Vicki snorted as gracefully as anyone could snort with disgust, "I doubt that man would trust anyone. You should see the set up he has. I bet they don't have equipment like that in the underground bunker the president runs the world from during the apocalypse."

"He took you to his base of operations?" Incredulity sounded in Oliver's voice. "What was it like?"

"It's a cave. With bats. The small winged rodent variety as opposed to the two legged rodent variety."

He chuckled, "Do I want to know what he did to get you to like him this much? He's on _our _side, remember?"

"Is he? Then why the trial period?"

"If I say I think it's because he might see us as a liability rather than an asset it's not gonna help endear him any to you, is it?" The second snort of disgust must have given him enough of a clue, because he then used his 'team leader' tone to tell her; "Put it this way. I'd rather have him on our side than against us. Does he know, you know?"

"I'd say he knows I'm on the trail," She leaned back in her chair and set her feet up on the desk while she tilted her head back and her gaze discovered a spider's web on a corner of the ceiling, "But he doesn't know how much I've got."

"How much do you have?"

"Enough to start a federal investigation." And that both of them knew she wouldn't use, "Next question; how much does he know about me?"

"Great. Now we're in the eighth grade. Do you want me to pass him a note?"

"I want you to tell me how much he knows. Does he think there's some random reason I need to be watched over? Cos I don't see him buying that, do you? Does he know I'm Watchtower?" She took a deep breath and mentally crossed her fingers for a negative answer to the third option, "Or does he know everything?"

The answer was swift, "He doesn't know everything. Trust is a two way street."

"So what does he know?"

"I asked him to watch over you as a favour. He wasn't happy about it but he's doing it. That was all he knew –"

"_Was _all he knew?"

"He wants you out of the city."

Dropping her feet off the desk she jerked forwards in her chair, "I'm not leaving here Oliver. I mean it. You try to move me against my will, I'll quit."

"I said you were safer where you are right now."

How _dare he_ tell Oliver to get her out of the city! He might own massive chunks of real estate but he didn't own _Gotham_. And it was her home now. He had no right! God she hated him. It was a rare thing for her to feel that way. And how she could feel that way and still be so determined to figure out who he really was under the varying layers of disguise he wore, was a source of great confusion to her. The lack of trust in the League wasn't helping his cause any either. If he would bother taking five minutes to get to know them-

"Cut the guy some slack. He's got his hands full there. All that stuff he had to deal with last time The Joker was loose..." Oliver took a breath, "It would have taken more than one of us to stop what was happening. A team could have done it, but alone? The only one with the skills would have been Blue. And he was half a planet away."

Vicki silently nodded in agreement. Clark was the only one who could have dealt with The Joker as fast if not faster than Batman. And even then he wouldn't have paid the price Bruce Wayne had. Because her recent research suggested Harvey Dent's girlfriend had been close to Bruce – apparently from childhood – and neither Batman or the Gotham City P.D. had been able to save her life.

There was no way anyone could know how Bruce must have felt about that.

But just when she was softening some Oliver added, "He knows you're Watchtower as of last night."

"_When _last night?"

"You were unconscious if that helps any."

"Which time?"

"O-okay…" There was a distinct pause, "Did you have a memory card stashed on you both times?"

The penny dropped, "You _told him_ I'd have more than one card?! Whose side are you on?"

"We're all on the same team, remember?"

"Tell that to Batman."

_Bruce Wayne's Penthouse, Gotham City – Morning:  
_

He'd showered and changed by the time he made the decision to pick up the phone. At some point during the night it had occurred to him that the best way to make sure Vicki Vale didn't become a liability was to make sure she was in his line of sight as much as feasibly possible. At least until he found out why it was she was safer in Gotham than anywhere else. Had someone compromised her Watchtower identity? If they had then that made it his problem too. Especially if she'd worked out who he was.

"Vicki Vale."

"It's Bruce."

There was a moment of silence, then an overly polite, "How can I help you Mister Wayne?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he looked out of the glass panels; Gotham laid out before him in 360 degrees of an unsurpassed view, "I've been thinking about this interview of yours…" When she didn't make a comment he frowned, "You there?"

"Yes, Mister Wayne. I'm still here."

The fact she was addressing him formally made him do an on-the-spot rethink, "I'd like to see you again."

"Well, naturally I'm incredibly flattered... but I don't think that would be appropriate. I can arrange for one of our other reporters to set up an appointment for an interview if you'd like. Now that you've made the decision to go through with it. We have several female reporters who would love the Opera."

If he hadn't been so exhausted, and if he didn't have a board meeting to sleep through in twenty minutes, he might have strung the game along. But he didn't have the time or the patience, "Is this about last night?"

Another pause, then; "What about last night?"

"You're obviously upset with me about something."

"Am I?"

"I'm assuming it has something to do with last night."

There was what sounded like a pen being tapped off the edge of a desk, "Well maybe if you narrowed it down for me some I could tell you if you're right…"

"I was under the impression you wanted this interview. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it _your _idea?"

"Maybe I don't need an interview any more," Her voice lowered and took on the seductive edge that had done so much damage to his libido before he even knew her, "Maybe I already know everything I want to know…"

"_Meaning_?"

"I'm sure you're very busy, Mister Wayne. It can't be long until you have an expensive lunch date somewhere. And I'm fairly sure you didn't have an early night last night, so-"

"If you have a point to make I'd prefer you got to it."

"There isn't a point to this conversation. And correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't _you _call _me_?"

Bruce wondered if she was as difficult to work with when she was doing more than a simple exchange of information with the League's team members once a week. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and sought patience, "I don't have a lunch date. So perhaps we could meet face-to-face and you can tell me what's bothering you."

"I'm sure your Hollywood actress friend from last night would be more than happy to join you for lunch."

A single brow lifted in disbelief, "You're jealous?"

"Goodbye Mister Wayne."

When there was a click in his ear and the line went dead, Bruce dropped his arm and stared down at the phone. She'd hung up on him? He couldn't remember the last time someone had done that. And he knew it shouldn't bug him – he was more controlled than that – but for some unfathomable reason he felt the need to get in his Lamborghini and drive straight to the Gotham Gazette offices. What the hell did she mean by 'maybe she knew everything she wanted to know?' Was it supposed to be some kind of cryptic clue? Or was she making a reference to his love life? Did the part about him not having an early night mean she'd assumed he slept with his date? If she thought that then why bother calling him by his name in the cave?

"I take it you haven't been watching the news!"

The sharp words snapped him out of his dark mood, his gaze seeking out the flat screen and his mood growing darker still as Alfred turned up the volume.

As an infant began to cry offscreen, a hand held camera panned out to reveal a close up of The Joker's face; "Baby got a tummyache? I've got something that'll fix him up real quick!"

Winking at the camera he turned it around and waggled a bottle of baby lotion with a large red smile drawn on it, "So remember - use Joker brand – let's put a _smile _on that face!"

Turning the camera around again, he licked his lips and squinted the eyes surrounded by smeared dark circles, "And the beauty of this product is it's…" He rocked back to wave an arm out from his side, "Well it's just about everywhere. Maybe you already bought some. Maybe it's on you or your little one right…this…minute… Seems to me Gotham's been lacking in a quality product for a while now. But I'm _ba-ack_ – and now we get to see just how much we remember from my _last _little visit…"

Leaning closer until the screen was filled with just his scarred mouth as he licked his lips again, he added; "Stay tuned folksl. You don't wanna miss the _punch-line_…"

Chillingly familiar laughter echoed in whatever room he was in as snow filled the screen, the transmission ended and a reporter's voice took over with a news report on The Joker's escape from Arkham.

"At least now you'll find out what he wants."

Bruce clenched his jaw, "He wants what he wanted last time, Alfred. _Chaos_."

When he lifted his hand and dialled a number Alfred asked, "What do you want to do?"

"Lucius? Bruce. Yes, I saw it. Get Wayne Pharmaceutical to test all the inward shipments we've had in the last four months for any contamination. While they do that, recall all the products on the shelves in Gotham and replace them with the ones we're sure are safe. No charge. Infant products first." He turned away from Alfred and reached for his jacket, "I won't be able to make it to the board meeting. Tell them no-one's heard from me since I went out to dinner with a Hollywood actress last night…"

Vicki Vale could think what she wanted about his 'date' the night before. Even if a very small part of him wanted her to know how wrong she was. But since another part of him was fairly sure she already knew…

Still, it couldn't do any harm to cover his bases, just in case.

"And have them send a range of our products to a Miss Vicki Vale. Alfred will call you with the address," He glanced at Alfred's face long enough to get a small nod of confirmation, "All of them. Yes, I know exactly how many that is."

_Vicki Vale's Apartment – Late Evening:  
_

"What the-"

She was dead on her feet, sixteen new deaths reported around the city with no clues to the Joker's demands. The list of potentially lethal products was growing by the minute and causing wide-spread panic. Even on her way back to the apartment to do what she could research-wise on a more sophisticated computer system, people were lining up to buy the evening edition of the Gazette, which had replaced the earlier headline of 'WAR OF THE FREAKS: Batman, Joker in Fluegelheim Shootout' with 'STOCK MARKET CRASHES: Product Scare Drops Dow to 1100. Biggest One-Day Decline in History.'

Not that it stopped Wayne Pharmaceuticals from replacing products all over the city at their own expense. If Vicki hadn't know any better she'd have been chasing up that story – curious to know if there was a link between the two and why it was they were able to guarantee their products safe when the substance had yet to be identified. Knox would be on it. She'd bet her favourite laptop he was. And it was sloppy of Bruce. He should have waited, maybe talked about Oliver getting Queen Industries to do something first then follow up with a similar move 24hrs later. That way it wouldn't have garnered as much attention.

The sight of piles upon pile of cardboard boxes outside her doorway with WAYNE PHARM printed on the sides made her frown all the harder. Why was he sending her –

The second elevator slid open and another pile of boxes were wheeled out by a uniformed delivery man, "Are you Miss Vale?"

"Yes. Why do I have all these?"

"Courtesy of Wayne Pharma-"

"I can read what's on the boxes. Why do I have them?"

He shrugged, "I just deliver 'em lady."

"Is there a note?"

"Nope."

"A delivery docket?"

"Yep," He pulled a clipboard out from between two of the boxes and reached up to retrieve a pen from behind his ear, holding the tip of it to the bottom of a page, "Sign at the 'X'."

She took the clipboard and pen from him and scanned the list of products, "Men's deodorant? Baby lotion? _Wrinkle cream_. What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?"

"If it was me I'd be settin up a stand. You'll make a fortune if this Joker guy keeps doin' what he's doin'…"

Vicki signed her name and handed back the clipboard and pen, "You're bringing all this inside, right?"

"Lady I just spent the last forty minutes haulin' 'em up here!"

"Well now you've got them this far, you don't have much further to go… not really," She tossed him a semi-flirtatious smile as she slid her key into the lock and pushed the door open, "I promise to tip well. You can even take a few boxes home for that stand of yours. How does that sound?"

"How many boxes?"

When they were neatly stacked in her spare room, minus a half dozen boxes of choice, and the delivery guy was wheeling away his booty, Vicki punched in Bruce's number, "Why do I have enough products to open a pharmacy?"

"I'd call that a shrewd investment about now."

She glared at the boxes, then looked at the wall in front of the secret room. Her instincts told her exactly where Bruce would be. And as much of a pain in the rear as he was being…

"You can arrange to have someone collect them tomorrow – minus a half dozen boxes I gave away. And for future reference, if this is your idea of a replacement for flowers and chocolates to suck up to me – not only is it in poor taste during a city-wide crisis – sending wrinkle cream doesn't endear you any either."

"Duly noted."

Vicki wondered if he'd remembered what night it was. Somehow she suspected he'd been too occupied elsewhere. Oh well, they'd see how good his poker voice was soon enough, "Goodbye Bruce."

"Well at least we've dropped the Mister Wayne. Goodnight Vicki."

_Beneath Wayne Manor – Night:_

The light on his desk flashed at precisely 9 p.m.. Bruce frowned at it. What was she doing? Then he remembered what day it was…

He was already suited up; a recent broadcast from The Joker playing on one of the screens, "… new and improved Joker brand. With the secret ingredient… I like to call it… _SMYLENDAL_!"

Sweeping an arm out to his side, he panned the camera around in an erratic, unsteady line that made everything blur for a moment, "Let's get right to our blind taste test…"

When the screen came into focus, there was an anonymous man – gagged, blindfolded and tied to a chair – squirming and struggling against his restraints. Around his neck, a crude sign reading; "Not An Actor.' In front of him on a table - a package labelled 'Brand X.'

"He's tense… he's irritable… Out of sorts…" The Joker practically skipped around him before waggling a finger in front of his blindfolded eyes, "He's been using Brand X! But with the new and improved Joker brand…"

There was the sound of struggling, muffled screams, the camera angle veered violently from ceiling to floor to an arm to struggling legs and a hint of convulsing torso. And then it steadied and focused on the blindfolded corpse, limp in his chair, grinning horrifically. It was the same spasmodic drug.

The camera was turned around and The Joker's face filled the screen, "… it's a SMILE EVERY TIME!" He licked his lips, angled his head, and changed his tone to a line Bruce remembered all too well from before, "I'm a man of my word."

Then he leaned back and took on a chirpier tone, "I know what you're saying. Where can I buy these fine products? Well, that's the beauty of it people of Gotham – you just never know. Chances are… you've bought 'em already! Chances are…"

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and beckoned the camera closer, "You bought 'em months ago…"

Bruce turned away from the screen and clipped on his belt; his gaze straying to the flashing light again. For the first time in months he ignored it and turned away. Then there was a low beeping from his belt. He'd forgotten it was there. The tiny transmitter was the League's equivalent of a 911.

With a deep sigh of irritation he turned around, "Knight to Watchtower."

"So do you want to know the location of the last broadcast or shall I leave it till next week's call?"

For a brief second he almost forgot to adjust his voice to the halfway point between Batman and Bruce. Then he cleared his throat, "How did you get it?"

"I'm good at what I do. If you get there fast enough you might be able to collect some forensics before the Gotham P.D. salsa their way across the crime scene." She waited for a heartbeat, "You still there?"

"Yes." He opened his mouth to tell her to send the co-ordinates.

"Why are you still there?"

Another small device flashed on the desk, so he picked it up. It was a portable Com. The one he'd never used before.

"Ear piece is in the back of the Com – co-ordinates are on screen – take the Com with you and if you send me the photographs, I can be working them before you get back to wherever it is you go back to."

Bruce read the co-ordinates that placed the scene inside The Narrows, "How do you know where I am?"

But she didn't comment on the fact she'd mentioned the Gotham P.D., or confirm how she knew he was close enough to get to the crime scene, she pushed again; "Are you _still_ there? I have other superheroes I can go help, you know…"

_Other superheroes_? The people of Gotham wouldn't agree he was a hero. He was still the masked vigilante who murdered Harvey Dent as far as they were concerned. Bruce frowned down at the com in his hand. He didn't want her help. He wasn't a team player. The only other time he'd ever attempted to join a 'team', they'd turned out to be the League Of Shadows.

"I'm starting to knit a sweater now. It should be done by the time you get there." The woman he suspected was slowly going to drive him insane said, "Any color preferences? You always struck me as a bright colors kind of a guy."

"Are you this annoying with the rest of your team?"

"If by annoying you mean able to give as good as I get?" There was what sounded like a can of soda being opened in the background, "Then, yes. Indeed I am. Watchtower out."

Well at least he had one question answered. Whatever her problem was, it had nothing to do with his 'date' from the night before. If it was, her attitude with Knight wouldn't have changed. And she'd never given any indication she knew Knight's location before either. But while one question was answered, another formed as he made his way to the Tumbler; Had she put all the pieces of the puzzle together or was she fishing?

Bruce took a deep breath, exhaled and shook his head as he started the engine. If she was fishing then he'd just confirmed his location, hadn't he? So now she knew Knight was Batman. Not that big a problem in the greater scheme of things he supposed. But it brought her a step closer.

The game was on. Amid everything else he was dealing with, he was going to have to find out everything there was to know about Vicki Vale before she put everything together about him. He knew she was Watchtower, so that meant they were still on an even playing field. But he needed more. A fingerprint would be a start. There might be one on the memory card she'd left behind. The one he'd trusted her with and she'd left as a sign he _could _trust her? A part of him believed that, had known it about Watchtower before he knew who Watchtower was. Being suspicious because she kept secrets was hardly an area where he could cast the first stone…

The Tumbler leapt through the waterfall and headed for Gotham while Bruce continued thinking about Vicki. It felt like he'd barely stopped since he met her. Maybe since before he met her. The thought made him frown hard behind his mask. Just how long _had he_ been thinking about her?

Bruce wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Before this chapter starts I just wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who has left reviews. I really appreciate it, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. I'm having a blast writing it!**_

**Chapter Five.**

_Tricorner Yards, Gotham City – Night:_

"Jerk."

Vicki picked her way cautiously around the side of the warehouse, narrowing her eyes to focus in the intermittent darkness as rain clouds rolled over the full moon while she continued whispering below her breath. It had come down to a choice between calling him names while she followed up on her hunch or confronting him and calling him names to his arrogant face. The former had won. Though why she'd felt the need to throw Knox off the trail again was beyond her. The huge part of her that was Watchtower was even more concerned then before. But if anything it made Vicki even angrier than she'd been on the night Batman chose to go it alone at the crime scene,

"Stubborn great –"

Movement made her duck behind the corner of the building. When she peeked around the edge again, she grimaced; for the first time questioning the wisdom of going to an island at the south west corner of Gotham on her own – without telling any of the team what she was doing. With her back literally against the wall, she slowly – and as quietly as humanely possible – unzipped her camera bag and reached a hand inside; wrapping her fingers firmly around the comforting coolness of a long lens. Not that she could use a flash without giving away her position. She frowned at the thought while the silent figures around the corner continued to work. Something wasn't right. She could feel it. The Joker's men weren't renowned for stealth. So just who were these guys? Her mind began forming a list; late night delivery – unlikely, common thieves – no such thing in Gotham she'd discovered, Mobsters smuggling something illegal – a distinct possibility…

Camera in hand, she quietly ducked her head underneath the strap and pushed the bag around to her back, taking a deep breath she held it in her lungs as she risked another look. Two figures dressed in dark clothing. She couldn't risk looking any further around the corner, so there was no guarantee there weren't more. Dammit. When one of them turned her way she ducked back again, her gaze automatically rising to the black shadows of the flat rooftops a few stories above. If she could just get to higher ground –

Wait a minute. What was that?

Lifting the camera, she focussed the lens, the corners of her mouth lifting as she saw what looked like a security camera facing the loading bay. A security camera meant a feed, especially when it had that beautiful little flashing light. With any luck it was a feed she could tap into. And since she had pretty good breaking and entering skills…

Her gaze lowered to search the small number of grime covered lights she could see forming muted arcs of mist above doorways. Which one was likely to lead into the building with the security camera? That was the question. Glancing around the corner before she moved, her heart skipped out of rhythm. There was only one man. Where was other one?

She was backing away when a hand covered her mouth.

_District Attorney's Office – Night._

Dana Worthington, Gotham's newest D.A., sat at the head of a large conference table. She was the only woman there, flanked by a number of politicos, including Mayor Garcia, "We deal."

The Mayor shook his head, "If your first official act as D.A. is to cut a deal with a _terrorist_…"

"We've got a market panic of national proportions." Dana leaned forwards, her gaze meeting his, "We've got nearly 300 dead. I won't sacrifice another life for the sake of appearing strong."

When no-one opened their mouth to support her, she added; "I told the people of this city if they voted for me, I would work my heart out to make sure there weren't any more victims. I plan on living up to my end of the bargain."

"Let's face facts, Dana. Harvey Dent's stand against corruption is what got you elected. When the people were faced with a choice between you and Garcetti straight after Dent's murder –"

"They chose someone who shared the same beliefs as Dent instead of the corruption Garcetti had brought them…" She sat up straight again, "I stood for election on the basis of the safety of Gotham's citizens coming first, Mayor Garcia. And I won't watch the city burn the way it did last time…"

"Dana's right." A councillor finally chose a side, "And we've got the 300th anniversary gala coming up. If people are too scared to leave their homes it will cost the city millions. If they do come out there could be a massacre."

Another voice chipped in for the opposition, "The police are working round the clock, the Feds are coming in, we still have the option of the National Guard. This thing could break any minute now. Tell her, Jim."

"It wasn't the police, the Feds or the National Guard who caught him last time. We had help."

"You're suggesting we just sit back and wait for the criminals to fight among themselves for control of Gotham?" Dana sounded incredulous.

"An _alleged_ criminal against a _convicted_ maniac he helped put behind bars." A clearly exhausted Gordon, whose hair was greying prematurely above his ears, calmly stared down the table at her from behind his glasses, "Do you have any idea how many Officers lives were lost last time?"

"And how many of those lives were lost because of Batman?"

"How many more might have been lost without him?"

"He murdered Harvey Dent!"

"Guilty until proven innocent is the new rule of thumb for the District Attorney's office now?"

"You were there Commissioner," Dana showed more backbone than Gordon had given her credit for, "Dent died trying to save your family from that 'innocent' man."

"Unless I'm mistaken you were pro-Proposition D on your election ticket…"

Her eyes narrowed, "Requiring the Gotham Police Department to make arrest and conviction of vigilantes its 'lowest priority' was prior to The Joker's strangle hold on this city, _Commissioner_."

The Mayor raised his voice an octave, "_Enough_." It lowered again when he had their attention, "If the anniversary gala isn't a success it costs the city millions. If people attend it costs the city lives. We can't set criminals at each others throats without surrendering control of the city and potentially turning it into a war zone. Even if we negotiate with The Joker there's no guarantee he'll stop. Can anyone give me another solution?"

The question was met with silence.

"Then cut a deal and see what happens."

_Tricorner Yards, Gotham City – Night:_

When the steel band of an arm snaked around her waist to hold her still, Vicki let out a muffled scream and fought for her freedom only to hear a harshly whispered;

"_Quiet!_"

Realizing who it was she turned her head and bit down hard on a gloved finger. It had the desired effect. When he removed his hand she glared over her shoulder and hissed back; "_What are you doing here?!_"

The arm around her waist tightened and Vicki froze; her senses on full alert. Then, for no apparent reason, she happened to look at the long line of filthy windows on the wall opposite them in the narrow alleyway between buildings. It took a second. But when she realized what she was seeing, she didn't make an attempt at keeping her voice low,

"Run."

"Why?"

"_Run!_"

As she turned the arm around her waist dropped and the rain clouds shifted enough for what could have been considered an optical illusion to be clearer to the naked eye. They broke into a run as the aged lead between panes of glass began to creak and groan in protest to the increased vibration. While Vicki kept her gaze firmly focussed on the distance to piles of glass-free shipping containers she heard the first almost tinny sounds of shattering behind them. She ran faster as the sound got closer and louder, her heart thudding hard against her breastbone, her peripheral vision catching sight of the dark figure slightly ahead of her, his cape fluttering behind him as he looked over his shoulder.

They weren't going to make it out of the alley in time. She could sense it. And Batman might be fine in his 'better than Kevlar' but –

He moved fast, stopped, reached for her, spun her around – and slammed her back against a wall. What was he doing?! There wasn't time and they were still in the kill zone! There was what sounded like a dull 'snap', as her body was again circled in a long arm and rigid cape wings formed a canopy around them; Vicki's face tucked against his shoulder with a large, gloved hand at the back of her skull. Then complete darkness - warm breath on her forehead – lethally sharp shards of glass falling like a vicious rain from above. She felt him flinch beneath the hands she'd instinctively flattened on the moulded waist of his suit; his shoulders jerking left and right as if he was deflecting impacts while Vicki felt the sting of glass hitting her ankles.

Then silence.

And then they were running again, the cape flapping loosely as he grabbed hold of her hand, engulfing it with his as he urged her forwards faster than before. The second they entered the maze of containers he released her, "Keep going!"

It didn't occur to her to disobey the gruff order as a line zipped past her right ear and connected with one of the higher containers ahead of them. She was a team player after all. Anyone with half a brain knew when to defer to superior physical strength and uncommon agility. So she kept running as he swung off the ground; blood rushing through her veins, lungs aching, a heavier downpour of rain plastering damp tendrils of hair to her cheeks as she darted in and out of random narrow alleys without any sense of direction. Her lips parted to suck in more air, then she saw a shadowy outline that gave her something to aim for…

Adrenaline alone would help her over the chain link fence.

Lifting an arm as she ran, she yanked her camera strap over her head, tugged her bag round, zipped it inside, ducked below the second strap – and tossed the bag over the fence before attacking it. Her feet slipped a couple of times, she felt her palm sliced by a loose piece of wire, the muscles attaching her arms to her shoulders screaming in protest as she reached over the top and swung to the other side; dropping to her feet and feeling the impact of landing jar her knees.

Which way? She bent over for her bag and ducked under the strap again. Where was Batman? She looked back through the fence. What if there were more than two men? He had no way of knowing what they could do. Neither did she without seeing their faces. But she couldn't abandon him. It was too deeply ingrained in her. The League never left a man behind. If she knew what side of the island she was on –

"Come on, come on…" She looked up at the night sky to try and see through the clouds to establish her position. Nothing. City skyline maybe?

Lights appeared at the end of the fence as a vehicle made the turn at speed. So Vicki turned and started running again; looking frantically to her left at the foreboding darkness of the water foaming against the rocks below. She'd never attempted a resurrection after death by drowning…

The vehicle behind her veered right and took out a long section of the fence, sparks flying, metal screaming against metal. Then it overtook her, arced away, took out another section of fence and spun one hundred and eighty degrees to a halt directly in front of her. The bright lights forced her to raise a hand above her eyes as she almost tripped to a stand-still. She was two seconds away from taking her chances in the water when the lights flicked off and a familiar sounding engine idled with the same low rumble as a growling beast.

Thank God.

Roof panels were sliding open as she stepped forwards, her hand dropping to her side when he got out and walked towards her, "I thought you were one of them."

He didn't say a word. But the movement of his arm as he got closer made her eyes narrow, "Don't you _dare_ –"

When his hand lifted she ducked around him. Not this time! No way was he knocking her out with another one of those pellets. So when he caught hold of her she fought, kicking her feet and flailing her arms as he lifted her off the ground and tossed her over his shoulder, "Put me down!"

After dumping her unceremoniously into the same seat as last time, he walked around the front of the vehicle and jumped inside, the roof still sliding into place as he drove away, "What happened back there?"

Vicki glared at him, "You're so great at figuring things out on your own – you tell me."

"Why are you here?"

"It's called investigative journalism."

"If I hadn't been there you'd have been killed."

"Maybe. Maybe not," She shrugged, her gaze firmly fixed forwards as she mumbled, "Doesn't really matter either way."

"Meaning?"

A combination of the anger that had been simmering inside her for more than twenty-four hours and the remainder of an adrenaline rush born of fear bubbled in the pit of her stomach and laced her words with acid, "So you're stalking me now? How did you know where I was?"

"Are you carrying a weapon?"

"Guns tend to get people killed."

"Getting killed doesn't matter. Your words."

"Other people getting killed matters. Having to kill someone – even in self-defence – _matters_!" She saw the tightening of his jaw in the green glow from the console in front of him as they skirted the edge of the city. When he didn't reply her gaze slid to the console and caught sight of a flashing circle in the centre of a grid. Wait. One. Damn. Minute.

"You tagged me?"

"I have better things to do with my time than chasing after you."

"You _tagged me_?!"

He didn't answer.

"Where is it?"

Still no answer.

"_Where. Is. It_?!"

The vehicle rolled from side to side as he dodged in and out of late night traffic before gunning the engine and pushing her deeper into her seat, "That was a pharmaceutical distribution warehouse. If The Joker had been there –"

"I swear – if you don't tell me where the tag is –"

"Do you know what he would do to you if he knew who you really are?"

"No-one knows who I really am! That's the whole damn point of being in Gotham to begin with!" Unzipping her bag, she dumped the entire contents in her lap and started going through them, "And if you would take five minutes to hold an actual honest-to-goodness conversation with any of us you'd know that we're damn good at what we do! But oh-no. You're obviously the first person in the history of mankind who ever thought about standing up to do something about the things happening around him."

Not in her compact. Not in the lens filter case. Not disguised as a coin in her purse. Angrily tucking a loose strand of wet hair behind her ear she ignored the stinging of numerous cuts and grazes and the ache of her shoulder muscles while eliminating each item by shoving them forcefully into her bag while continuing to let loose, "For your information, those weren't The Joker's men back there. I just needed a clear shot of them to confirm it. If they're who I think they are then I know more about the man they work for than anyone. Because for those of us who give a damn – there's a world out there beyond the Gotham city limits. And anyone naïve enough to think what happens out there doesn't effect what happens here –"

"You done?"

"No – I'm _not_ done!" And she didn't give a stuff if she was distracting him while he was controlling a vehicle doing in excess of eighty miles an hour down a darkened road without lights, "You think your favourite homicidal maniac took a degree in science from inside an insane asylum? He had help, you idiot! Last time he was loose all he wanted was chaos. This is way too organized for someone who thrives on chaos! Distribution of whatever this drug is could have been handled by a handful of the mobs monkey's – but the chemistry behind it -"

"Is there a point to this?"

Inside her camera damn it! Of course it was. Because he knew she would never go anywhere without it.

"What are you doing?"

"This thing has windows. I'm going to find a way to open one of them and dump this tag before I'm tempted to stick it –"

"It's not a station wagon."

The fact that he'd maintained the same flat tone to his gruff voice throughout made Vicki's need to hit him grow exponentially, "Next time you want to know where I'm going – try asking. The word please can work wonders too. And while we're at it – I'm not leaving – you want me out of Gotham then you're gonna have to physically remove me. Even then if you think for one single second I won't find a way back -"

"Seatbelt."

"What?"

"_Now_."

There was barely time to find the end of the belt and click it into place before his thumb hit a button on the vehicle's steering control and the air caught in Vicki's lungs as they launched into the air. There was a splash of fast-flowing water, a thud as they hit the ground, she was thrown forwards against her restraint – and then they slid sideways to a halt. Vicki was still blinking in surprise when the roof slid back and he got out.

Grimacing at the pain in her palm from the wound inflicted by the fence she'd climbed, she undid the belt across her lap, tossed the last items into her bag, and scrambled out to follow him, "Take me back to my apartment."

"You're not going anywhere."

"So I'm what?" She jogged up the stone steps to catch up with him as he tossed his cape aside, "Your _prisoner_? You're going to keep me locked up in this cave for the rest of my life? You think there aren't people out there who will come looking for me? You think I won't make your life as difficult as possible?"

"I don't doubt the latter." Gloves followed his cape, then his arms lifted.

It occurred to a small corner of Vicki's brain that his voice had changed, but she wasn't done yet; her gaze barely registering the fact ruffled brown hair had appeared, "You can't keep me here forever. And I'm more use out there than I am –"

Tossing the cowl aside, he turned around and looked down at her with an unreadable expression, "There were security cameras at that warehouse. Wayne Securities offered the entire complex an unbeatable deal on installation eighteen months ago."

"I know there were cameras. I saw them just before –"

He jerked his chin at the keyboards beside her as he stripped the first arm from his suit, "Use the one on the right. Call up the grid of the city. I'll assume you can take it from there…"

Vicki didn't move when she realized what she was seeing. The man standing in front of her wasn't Batman any more. And it wasn't that she was surprised to be looking at Bruce Wayne, it was just a very different version of Bruce Wayne. Her gaze took in the waves of hair across his forehead, damp at the tips from being under the cowl for so long. She studied the dense dark lashes that blinked lazily while hooded eyes openly watched her studying him. He looked so different… not as buttoned down as Bruce Wayne the businessman or as devilishly charming as Bruce Wayne the playboy could be when he set his mind to it… or as dangerous as the man behind the mask… he looked… well he looked… _normal_…

Okay. Normal wasn't the right word. She doubted there was anyone who wouldn't notice him in a crowd. Certainly not a female anyone. Women tended to be observant that way.

The sleeve was tugged off his arm as a dark brow lifted an almost minuscule amount, "Problem?"

Vicki shook her head and inwardly rolled her eyes at the sudden difficulty she had the power of speech.

His eyes narrowed.

So she silently cleared her throat, "You took off the mask."

"Further pretence seemed pointless." He went to work on the other sleeve, "I don't suppose you feel like telling me who _you_ are?"

In the spirit of further pretence seeming pointless she answered; "You already know who I am."

"I know your call-sign is Watchtower. I know you use the name Vicki Vale. But that's not who you are."

Vicki lifted her chin, "You've been investigating me?"

"I suspect you'd have done the same thing if the situation was reversed."

She decided to skip the fact she done _exactly_ the same thing _without_ reversing the situation, "And what did you find out?"

"That you're exceptionally good at covering your trail."

"Careful Bruce," She felt the corners of her mouth lift, "That almost sounded like a compliment…"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Vicki Vale," Her smile grew when she saw the dark brows folding over his eyes in annoyance; the second sleeve tossed aside with a little more force than the first. But before he could say anything she found herself adding, "The person I was before no longer exists. There aren't any records anywhere in existence. Trust me. I'm more than exceptionally good at what I do. There's not one single record left on a computer database anywhere. There's not even a paper trail. A couple of generations from now no-one will even remember her name…"

The large hands that had automatically moved to the upper body section of his suit stilled, then dropped; his gaze searching her eyes for a long moment before he simply asked; "Why?"

"Everything happens for a reason. I think you know that better than most."

A hint of something must have sounded in the soft tone of her voice. Or maybe he saw something in her eyes. But whatever the reason, he nodded – just the once - and continued what he was doing as he turned away, "Find what you were looking for. I won't be long."

By the time he returned wearing comfortably worn jeans and a dark v-necked sweater, she was already tapped into the feed; her attention focussed on one of the monitors, so that when a chair was rolled over beside her and he reached for her hand, the shock of his warm touch made her jump, "What are you doing?"

"Stopping you from smearing blood over my desk." Turning her hand over, he gave the wound a cursory glance before reaching for a first aid kit, "It's not deep. You won't need stitches."

She could fix it in approximately two seconds if she chose to, but somehow the sight of his bowed head as he concentrated on what he was doing was the most mesmerizing thing she'd ever seen. And it had been a long time since she'd used her ability in front of someone who didn't know she possessed it. But that didn't mean she'd forgotten how it felt. The uncertainty, the risk of rejection, the chance that person would never look at her the same way again…

Damping her lips with the tip of her tongue she continued studying the top of his head as he tore open a small pack of surgical wipes and cleaned the wound, "But you could stitch it if it needed it, right?"

The memory of the scars and bruises he bore played vividly across her memory when she summoned them; uninvited images of the accompanying toned muscles doing strange and unusual things to her pulse rate. Especially when she remembered his body being pressed against hers. Over the same desk they were sitting at. She swallowed hard.

"You don't want me to stitch a wound for you. Trust me." Dense lashes shifted upwards for a brief second, then back down, "Find what you were looking for?"

Vicki forced her gaze to shift to the monitor while she felt the heat of his palm cradling the back of her hand as he worked, the gentleness of his touch completely at odds with the way he'd thrown her over his shoulder and tossed her into his vehicle, "I'm tapped into the feed from the camera overlooking the loading bay. The fact you already have feeds from all over the city made it easier. Did Wayne Securities sell the same system to the city council and the police department?"

"No."

"So how did you –"

A dressing was pressed to her palm and taped into place, "Did you get hurt anywhere else?"

"No."

"Where else?"

"I can take care of it on my own." When the images she was searching for appeared on the monitor, she froze the frame and searched the computer for the kind of image enhancing software she knew would be there somewhere.

"Move over."

"What?" She turned her head when her chair suddenly rolled further along the desk, "I can do this. It's hardly the first time I've-"

"You're taking too long."

Folding her arms she glared at his profile in disgust as a printer began running off photograph quality images from the stills that were bouncing onto a half dozen monitors, "They're too grainy."

"I'm fixing that." Tapping brusque instructions into the keyboard that set image enhancement running on two of the monitors while a third played the video at half speed, he frowned, "All right. You know who these people are – you can explain how they're doing that."

"Doing what?" When he glanced sideways, she quirked her brows in challenge.

Bruce froze the video and pointed, "_That_."

"I believe the generally accepted terminology is telekinesis." When he turned to look at her more closely she smirked, "It's the ability to –"

"I know what telekinesis is supposed to be. I don't happen to believe in it."

Vicki sucked in a deep breath, pursed her lips together for a moment and nodded as she exhaled, "Then I'd say you've got a pretty steep learning curve headed your way."

"You're telling me those men are moving those boxes with the power of their minds." He turned his office chair towards her, long legs spread wide and his forearms resting casually on his lap.

"Nope. Just one of them. The other one created the sonic vibrations that blew out the windows."

"Obviously. And how exactly did they do that?"

"How scientific do you want me to be?"

"Do you have anything that disproves the fact PK violates some of the well-established laws of physics? Things like the inverse square law, the second law of thermodynamics, the conservation of momentum…"

The words made the corners of her mouth twitch again. She'd known she could have some interesting conversations with Knight if the chance ever arose. It was nice to know she'd been right about that. Despite the fact she didn't want to, it made her remember why she'd looked forward to talking to him, "Those would be physics laws as the human race currently understands them." She angled her chin and resisted the urge to innocently bat her eyelashes, "To get your head around this stuff you might need to broaden your horizons."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning what they can do may have remained dormant, the way it does for most people, if it hadn't been for a catalyst that came from somewhere outside of our solar system."

There was a long moment of silence while Bruce studied her more intensely and Vicki refused to be intimidated by continuing to stare back at him. Then he shook his head and turned his chair towards the desk again, "Everyone in your team believes this theory, do they? That explains a lot."

"Just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. You've met Blue, right?"

"Yes." Splicing the video, he set it to run on a continuous loop.

"Seen him in action?"

"Yes."

"So how do you explain what _he_ can do?"

"According to the Metropolis Daily Planet it's because he's from somewhere called Krypton. Dubbing himself Superman was a little egotistical I thought."

Vicki scowled at his profile, "He didn't choose that name."

"Who did?"

Sighing with impatience and the need to be doing something constructive rather than watching someone else do _her job_, Vicki reminded herself to choose her words carefully. It had been on the tip of her tongue to say 'my cousin' but instead she said; "Newspapers like snappy headlines. He's a man with superpowers therefore he's a super man. No-one said giving someone a name in the press was rocket science. But you can hardly throw stones - _Batman_."

"So you're telling me the men at the warehouse are from the same place he is?"

"No."

"They're from a different planet."

"No. But then they're not technically from this one either." She waited for him to look at her before adding in a stage whisper; "_They're probably clones_."

"If you say so," Bruce nodded at the printer, "Will those do?"

Rolling her chair closer, she unfolded her arms and reached for the photographs, flicking through them to confirm what she already knew and nodding in answer to his question.

"They'll be safe down here." He pushed to his feet, "This way."

After resisting the urge to stash the photos in her bag while his back was turned, she set them down and scowled at him as she followed him towards the back of the cave, "You can't keep me here. I need to pass on this information as soon as possible."

"I've already told you, you're not going anywhere. If you refuse to leave Gotham, and you continue getting into trouble, then you'll stay here until The Joker is back in Arkham."

When he disappeared around a darkened corner, Vicki was forced to speed up her pace to catch up, craning her neck to see where he had gone as a large rock obscured him from view, "Did you listen to anything I said? If those men were delivering boxes to that warehouse then The Joker has help. And if it's who I think it is then there's more at stake than Gotham."

"Gotham is my only concern right now," His voice echoed around the cavern.

Jogging a few steps to catch up, she rounded another corner into a narrow corridor that opened on to a smaller cave with crypt-like arches, more corridors, what looked like the remnants of an old mining track and a wooden structure that stretched up into the dark recesses of the ceiling, "What is this place?"

"My great-great grandfather used it to smuggle slaves during the civil war." Bruce slid open a gate at the front of the structure, lights flicking on to reveal what looked like a service elevator.

And Vicki suddenly realized where they were, "We're underneath the Manor."

"The South East wing." He waited for her to step inside before closing the gate and pressing a button to send them upwards, "Alfred has prepared a room for you. Let him know what you need in the morning and he'll make sure you have it."

"He knows everything?"

Bruce looked straight ahead as the elevator rose, "It was his idea."

"The hell it was."

Something vaguely resembling a hint of amusement glinted in his dark eyes when he glanced sideways at her, "I wouldn't underestimate Alfred if I were you."

And now he was teasing her? Vicki blinked in astonishment. That couldn't be right. It was a veiled threat of some kind, wasn't it? He was telling her she shouldn't try to escape. Which meant he wasn't kidding about the fact she wasn't going anywhere. Chloe Sullivan had been held against her will and she'd learned it didn't matter what shape or form her surroundings; a prison was still a prison. Vicki Vale had no intention of being trapped, whether Bruce Wayne liked it or not.

"You don't trust me." She stated the obvious.

Bruce looked upwards, "If it helps any there are very few people I trust."

"Then why bring me here? Why reveal who you are? Why tell me anything? I'm a bigger liability now than I was before."

"Which is precisely why you'll be staying here." He replied without answering any of her questions.

If he thought making her life difficult was going to be enough to make her leave Gotham voluntarily so he got his way then he could –

The elevator came to a halt and Bruce pushed open a wooden panel.

"Miss Vale," Alfred smiled at her as she stepped into the library, "Pleasure to see you again. I've taken the liberty of preparing a little light supper in case you've worked up a bit of an appetite…"

"Is it bread and water?"

Bending a little at the waist, he leaned closer and lowered his voice, "Oh I think we can do better than that."

Vicki couldn't help but smile as she leaned in and lowered her voice in a similar conspiratorial manner, "Your boss is a pain in the ass, Alfred."

"He does have his moments."

When she turned around Bruce was closing the panel; the wall transformed into a bookcase. With him on the other side.

"He's going back out isn't he?"

"Yes Miss. Gone till just before dawn as a rule…" Waving an arm out to his side in invitation, Alfred waited for her to fall into step beside him, "I've prepared a room for you on the first floor."

"Thanks Alfred." Allowing the varying aches and pains in her body the respect they deserved, Vicki let her shoulders slump and favoured the ankle she suspected had glass in it, "So. Bruce tells me the whole Batman thing was your idea…"

"Did he now. Very inventive of me, if I do say so."

_Wayne Manor – Early Morning:_

Bruce lifted his gaze from the business section of the Gotham Times as she appeared in the archway to the kitchen, the tell-tale flicker of her gaze towards the door on the other side of the room giving her away.

"Would you like coffee before you attempt to make a break for freedom?"

"How far will I get?"

"The grounds are pleasant enough, but expansive," He shrugged as he lifted his mug to his mouth, "Probably take you a couple of hours to find a road if you manage to avoid the woods. But your chances of making it to the city limits are fairly slim."

Turning around, he set the paper down and reached for another mug, filling it with freshly made coffee from the pot before sliding it down the counter towards her, "Cream and sugar?"

"No. I need to contact Oliver."

"He'll be here later. As will Mr. Kent. I explained you were a house guest as of last night."

"Guest was a bit of a stretch don't you think?"

"There's a pen and paper in the third drawer to the left of the sink. You can make that list of things you need Alfred to get." Retrieving his paper, he took another mouthful of coffee and stepped over to the table. Her indecision was palpable. As was her dislike of him, "He can get them from your apartment this afternoon when he's in the city."

Laying the paper out flat, he sat down in a high backed wooden chair and continued reading. It took a moment, but then she claimed her coffee and sat down opposite him. And lasted a whole two minutes before she tried bargaining with him, "I could go with him. It would be a lot quicker. I know where everything is."

"You can tell Alfred where everything is," He quietly turned the page.

"If I'm not going to be in the apartment for a while there are things I need to take care of. And I can't just disappear from the Gazette without explanation."

"You can tell Alfred what needs taken care of. And you can call the Gazette and tell them you're finally getting the Bruce Wayne exclusive you've been looking for. That should make your editor happy."

"I can't just sit around this place and do nothing. The League needs me."

"You can use the equipment in the cave if the need arises. Under supervision of course." He glanced at her, "Consider it a vacation."

Leaning back in her chair, she cupped her hands around the coffee mug, "That must be one hell of an act you pull off."

Bruce turned another page, "Which act would that be?"

"The one where you play the role of charming playboy billionaire. Fun guy to be around. Life and soul of the party. Everyone's favourite host."

"Your point being?"

"You obviously don't want me here."

"That would be true."

"_I _don't want to be here."

"And yet you hide it so well."

Manicured fingernails, shining with a simple French polish, began drumming against the ceramic of her mug; the sound forcing Bruce to stifle a smile. She was right – given the choice he didn't want her there. It would be simpler if she wasn't. Yet he found he was enjoying their sparring. And while she was in the house he didn't have to concern himself with keeping tabs on her – a complication he hadn't seen as being quite so complicated when he foolishly agreed to Queen's request. But if she was determined she wasn't leaving Gotham and she was going to continue investigating The Joker, then she given him no choice. Her predicament was a result of her actions. And if he irritated her enough then maybe she would do the sensible thing and leave the city…

With that thought in mind, he turned another page and took another sip of coffee, "You'll find the library fairly diverse if you want to catch up on your reading. There's a swimming pool and a fully equipped gym..."

"Of course there is."

When he leaned back and gave in to the urge to look at her more openly, she had her profile turned to him; her sparkling green gaze once again focussed on the door as long lashes rhythmically brushed against her perfect skin. Considering her odds of escape again no doubt. He'd be doing exactly the same thing in her place. Though in fairness he probably wouldn't have lasted as long as she had before he tried. But then he still had the photographs she needed, didn't he? As if she could sense his gaze on her, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. So Bruce lifted his mug and continued staring at her over the rim.

"Are you going to the city with Alfred?"

"No."

"Taking turns at guard duty?"

"No. Thanks to the threat of The Joker, a lot of Gotham's citizens are keeping a lower profile."

"And playboy Bruce Wayne is likely to hide, right?"

"Most of Gotham's rich list will have run for cover behind their security systems. Playboy Bruce Wayne is more likely to be reckless and throw a party in the middle of it all. He learned his lesson last time."

Turning in her chair, she lifted a hand from her mug to tuck a strand of long hair behind her ear even though it was already there. In anyone else Bruce might have seen it as a sign of unease or nervousness, but the woman who called herself Vicki Vale didn't strike him as the type. She was gutsy for someone so small. Five feet four at best in his estimation, she'd weighed next to nothing any time he lifted or carried her; reminding him of her frailty and how easy it would be for someone to cause her physical harm. It made what she did even more reckless. If he hadn't been able to track her to the warehouse the night before…

"Who recruited you for the League?"

Confusion flickered across her expressive eyes, "Recruited me?"

"That's how it works, isn't it?" He leaned forwards again, cupping his mug on the table the same way she was as he continued studying her, "I can see how your computer skills would be an asset to them. The fact you hacked as far as you did into the Wayne Industries system suggests you're among a small percentage of the population with the ability to crack complex coding."

"Is that another compliment?" For a moment it looked like she might smile, then she frowned, "How do you know I tried to hack into your system?"

"That's the thing with hacking. It's a two way street."

Varying thoughts crossed her eyes, then; "I re-route through a minimum of thirty different destinations, no matter what I'm doing. You shouldn't have been able–"

"I didn't say it was easy." Bruce momentarily gave in to the need to smile.

Vicki's eyes narrowed in response before she shook her head, "It doesn't matter if it was easy or not. You shouldn't have been able to do it. The fact that you _did_…"

When she lifted her finely arched brows with meaning, Bruce took a deep breath and let her off the hook before taking the time to weigh up the consequences, "The Wayne Industries system has a tracking program. Once you got a certain distance in, you triggered it. You wouldn't have known you'd done it unless you knew to look for it. Even then it would have given you the run around. By the time you found it, it would have found you," He shrugged, "It's clever. Not available anywhere else; _obviously_."

"The League's system automatically scrambles the pathway every five minutes. There's no way it could track me through that."

"And yet it did. Right down to the ISP you have at the apartment owned by Queen Industries. Got a cave if your own, have you? Because I think I'd remember seeing a sophisticated computer system when I put you to bed that night..."

When she smirked he smirked back.

"Something like that could be incredibly useful to us," Light danced in her eyes as her mind thought about the possibilities. Then, disappointingly, it died, "But you're not going to share it, are you?"

Bruce lifted his mug and took another sip of coffee. He didn't need to answer her question. She already knew the answer. And it made her shake her head and glance at the door again, "Okay. I'm gonna be honest with you."

"That'll be refreshing."

"The fact you don't trust us… _bothers me_…"

The fact she tagged on a sarcastic smirk made Bruce smile another small smile, "And?"

"Not an 'and'… a 'but'…" When he lifted a brow, she continued, "_But_ – trust needs to be earned – I get that. Believe me I do."

Bruce did believe her. Considering his past, it went against the grain, but he did. Probably because she hadn't done anything for him to doubt her sincerity. She had secrets, but he of all people could hardly damn her for that. She held back a large portion of her thoughts, not as many as Bruce did, but again he could hardly damn her for it. But there was more to it. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was…

"Thing is… how can it be earned if you continue separating yourself from us? Ever hear the expression 'together we're stronger'? That's why the League was formed. We can do more standing side-by-side than we can alone."

Taking a deep breath, Bruce turned his head and looked out of the windows to the grounds beyond. She wasn't saying anything he hadn't already heard from Queen or Kent and it wasn't something he hadn't considered – at length - but –

The softly feminine voice continued to sound in his ears as she tried reasoning with him, "If I'm right – if The Joker is getting help – then you need to know how. If it's from who I think it is, then the team needs to know where and when. It makes sense to pool our resources on this. Because I'm telling you, The Joker may want to control Gotham, but this other guy? He's more ambitious than that."

It was the bitterness in the last words that drew his attention, his gaze seeking hers to search for what it meant at the exact moment she looked away.

"Who is he?"

The fact he'd asked in a lower tone than before earned him a brief hint of a smile and momentary eye contact. Then she took a breath and lifted her chin as if she'd drawn on inner strength to compose a mask she could hide behind, "Just think about it. That's all I'm asking."

Then she stood and lifted her mug from the table, "Where did you say the cream and sugar was?"

He hadn't. She'd said she didn't want any. But Bruce didn't point that out, "On the counter beside the stove."

Staring straight ahead while she worked behind him, Bruce thought over what she'd said and the things she'd said the night before about being naïve to think what happened outside of Gotham didn't effect the city. She was right. But he wasn't naïve; he was just one man. One man couldn't save the entire world. All he could do was draw a circle around him and protect everything and everyone within it. How big that circle was, was up to him. Then his mind wandered to the questions she'd asked him as they came up to the house from the caves; '…_why bring me here? Why reveal who you are? Why tell me anything?_' Good questions. He hadn't answered any of them. And he could tell himself the decision had been made the moment he discovered she'd attempted hacking into the Wayne Industries database, he could tell himself that putting two-and-two together he'd known she already knew who he was, he could even tell himself that the fact she kept so many secrets for the League was proof enough she wouldn't splash the information across the front page of the Gazette. All of those things would be true. But there was more to it than that, if he chose to look deeper.

Bruce heard her moving towards the archway where she'd made her appearance.

"I'll think about it."

Vicki's footsteps hesitated, stopped for a moment, her voice as temptingly soft as before, "Thank you."

"You'll abstain from trying to make a bid for freedom while I make a decision, will you?" He turned his head and looked at her at the exact moment she made a half-turn and looked at him.

Amusement sparkled in her eyes as she lifted her mug to her lips and quirked her brows, "Now where's the fun in that?"

Then she took a sip, turned, and left Bruce blinking at the empty space she'd occupied. He shook his head, smiling again as he got up from the table to refill his mug. Never a dull moment, he'd give her that. Under different circumstances… His smile faded. There was no point in following that train of thought. Not with her. Any more than there was a point discovering the real answer to her questions from the night before. As to the exchange of information? Well that he _would_ think about. Right after he'd run tests on the samples he'd returned to get from the warehouse. If they contained the same drug that had been in the samples from The Joker's victims, then the decision would be easier to make. He wouldn't have a choice. But there would be certain provisos. One of them that Vicki Vale left Gotham, whether she liked it or not. He would even offer to pay the expenses of setting up a new life for her if he had to. It was for her own good. And Bruce's peace of mind.

He didn't need someone to worry about. Or another life he couldn't save in time.

_Wayne Manor – Late Evening:_

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do!"

Vicki saw Clark grimace at her tone, he'd been sitting quietly and exchanging silent glances with Oliver since she'd lost her temper. And he'd been aiming the odd look of sympathy at Bruce; who didn't deserve it in her opinion. The man changed personalities faster than Bart downed burritos!

"I am _merely_ suggesting that if you spent more time at a safe location then it would free everyone else up to investigate this rather than constantly having to get you out of trouble."

The hell he was! She knew exactly what he was doing. He was manipulating the situation. The second Clark and Oliver arrived he must have directed the conversation in a way that made it seem like he knew everything – to the point where, by the time Vicki entered the room, Oliver was volunteering the information that Lex Luthor was a possible candidate for helping The Joker with the drug Bruce had been unable to identify. When Vicki glared at him, Oliver had given her his patented 'what did I do?' look. But it was too late by then – Vicki had already lost a bargaining tool. And Bruce obviously wasn't done.

She squared up to him again, ""Well _I_ am _merely suggesting_ that _you _do what you do best and let _me _do what I do best. When I need to be treated like some poor little woman who might faint at the first sign of blood then I'll wave my white hanky in the air and you can swoop in, rescue me and lecture me the whole way back like you _so _love to do!"

Which wasn't entirely true and they both knew it. If anything she'd been the one lecturing him. But she was too angry to be reasonable. To her great annoyance, Bruce remained calm in the face of the storm,

"I wouldn't _have_ to lecture you if you would occasionally see fit to _inform us_ of any leads you're following. There is a chain of information in place that-"

_Us?_ Now he was suddenly a team player? Was he kidding her? If Oliver and Clark were buying this bull she was gonna kick their –

Vicki laughed sarcastically, "You're telling _me_ about the chain of information? Me? Can you believe this guy?"

When she aimed the question at Oliver he shrugged his shoulders and opened his mouth. But Vicki wasn't done, ""I _AM_ the chain of information! Who do you think it is passing on those little details that keep members of the team from regularly getting their asses kicked? You think everything just magically drops out of the sky in the nick of time? You think there's some off scene script writer making sure the good guy always wins in the end? You think –"

Bruce let her continue when Alfred appeared, "Alfred, Miss Vale will have her usual blend of coffee, possibly decaffeinated on this occasion," He glanced across the room, "Gentlemen?"

"I can tell Alfred myself what I'd like!" She paused for breath and smiled warmly at the older man who, along with discreetly bringing her a selection of her belongings, had supplied her with some of the best coffee she'd ever tasted at regular intervals during the day – something she already loved him for, "The usual is lovely thank you Alfred - _caffinated_ if you don't mind."

Her tone changed as she frowned at Bruce, "And who asked you to zoom in all dark and threatening mess-with-me-and-you-die style anyway? I'm more than capable of looking after myself! And even if I wasn't it's not like I can't fix the damage is it? I'm _recyclable_ in case you hadn't heard!"

A brief narrowing of his eyes told her she'd given him more information _dammit_. That was twice she'd done that now. Anyone would think she wanted to tell him! But when he saw her frustration at the mistake she'd made, he had the gall to look like he was holding back a smile. And Vicki had never wanted to slap someone so badly in all her born days.

"Miss Vale-"

Anger rising to boiling point, Vicki waggled a forefinger at him, "Oo-oh don't you _Miss Vale_ me Bruce Wayne!" Because she knew what he was doing with that too. He was making a dig about the fact he knew it wasn't her real name, "Patronizing me won't earn you any brownie points either. My cousin and I spent more time as guests in Lex's luxury hotel than any of you. And that makes us more likely to find the breadcrumbs than _anyone_. I will _not_ sit back and wait for _him_ to come to _me_. Is that Cristal clear enough for you?"

Dear God. What had she just done? Her jaw dropped and a tense silence descended on the room. Then Oliver made the mistake of chuckling. So Vicki turned her frustration on him, "And you needn't think I'm done with you either. If I'd known you were going to land me with Mister Brightness and Light here as my own personal babysitter I'd never in a million years have agreed to having someone keep a closer eye on me."

Oliver shrugged, "You said you wanted to stay in Gotham. Bruce is our guy in Gotham."

"If I'd known the real identity of _our guy in Gotham_ I might have saved Lex the time and effort by placing my name in the phone directory!"

"Now you don't mean that," Oliver's mouth twitched, "Bruce has a much nicer house."

Vicki threw caution to the wind and informed him; "You can take away the guards and add a sweetheart like Alfred but a prison is a prison no matter how many expensive antiques you add to it. And if any of you think I'm going to sit here and whittle little bat shaped weapons out of wood while you spend weeks trying to crack security codes I can get through in a quarter of the time then –"

"You _whittle weapons_ out of wood?" Oliver raised his brows in question at Bruce, "That's retro of you."

Bruce walked towards the floor to ceiling bookshelf beside them, his voice low but not low enough that Vicki didn't hear him, "I might have to kill her myself before Luthor finds her."

And now he was making out like he knew Lex would come looking for her?! Just how much had he gotten out of Oliver and Clark before Alfred told her they were there? It had been annoying enough she didn't get to speak to them before Bruce did, but to discover he'd been pumping them for information made her wonder if he'd deliberately planned it that way. She wouldn't put anything past him. And she didn't know how much more of the faux 'men's club' attitude she could take either.

"She gets angry when she's worried," Clark informed Bruce, "And she has a point about the security codes."

Oliver nodded, "I'll send over some of the computers and communication equipment we use at the usual base of operations so she can work from here. That might makes things easier all round."

Vicki let out an exasperated sigh, lifting one arm and dropping it to her side, "You guys are unbelievable. I'm _still in the room_!"

Bruce popped a book forwards and a section of the bookshelf swung open to reveal a large safe. He then keyed in the code and produced several files that he laid out on the large coffee table in front of Clark and Oliver. Then, with a calm sideways glance at Vicki, he summoned her over with a jerk of his head, "Perhaps you'd like to show them what you risked your neck for…"

She glared at him through narrowed eyes, defying him for all of thirty seconds before her heels tapped on the polished wooden floor. As she leaned over to open the files, Bruce lifted a carved chair and placed it behind her so she could sit down. Vicki hated him for it.

Clark frowned at the first one, "That's Tyler McKnight."

Vicki nodded, "It gets better."

She laid the photographs out one after the other after the other, and Clark frowned harder as he saw another familiar face,

"Justin Gaines." He reached a hand out to lift one of the shots where Gaines had several boxes of equipment floating past his head, "I don't understand – what are they doing working together?"

Bruce's voice sounded a little too close for comfort behind her, the deep rumble sending an unwanted shiver of awareness along her spine, "It's interesting that you skipped the floating boxes questions don't you think? I take it that kind of thing isn't as unusual a phenomenon where you come from as it is in Gotham."

Ignoring the fact he was digging again, Vicki looked up at Clark and smiled, "You could say that."

Clark smiled back, "We've seen a lot of meteor freaks over the years."

"Actually the politically correct term these days is: metahuman." She corrected him. But it felt good to see her old friend again. She'd missed him. And of all the people in the room, he was the only one who'd shared the early life that had helped form her personality. Heck, he was part of the reason she was who she was. And Clark didn't need things explained to him, or parts of the conversation censored. Vicki felt like she'd never needed that more than she did right now.

Bruce cocked a brow as he walked around her chair, "Metahuman?"

Silently sighing, she nodded and avoided his gaze while volunteering the information without a fight. She was getting tired of playing games. Once the meeting was over, she would talk to Oliver above relocating her to a safe house away from her apartment. She wasn't staying under the same roof as someone she disliked so much. Bruce had no intention of trusting the League with information. She wished she didn't feel so disappointed about that. But she did. It made her dislike him even more…

"Altered humans who possess superhuman abilities. Humans can become metahumans by mutations, via chemical or kryptonite exposure or by birth. Those who acquired metahuman powers as a result of kryptonite exposure... we called them meteor freaks in the early days…"

There. That should give him enough to research for at least a month. He still wouldn't find out who she was or that he'd had a metahuman in his home for almost twenty-four hours. It was a small consolation in the greater scheme of things. But she'd take what she could get.

Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the pictures, her mind turning to more important matters as she looked back at Clark, "But we haven't met these ones before. Not if they're what I think they are. I don't think we're looking at Tyler and Justin Mk.1. I think these are the top of the range models. They were in and out of this place in less than twenty minutes; the alarms didn't even go off."

Clark frowned down at the coffee table again, "You think they're Lex's creations."

She pointed at one of the photographs, "Note the nice matching outfits and the dull eyed lack of expression…"

Oliver had moved forwards on his seat, one large hand rifling through the pictures until he found one to lift, "What did these two have as their special gifts? Telekinesis for box boy obviously…"

Vicki nodded again, "That's Justin Gaines. He was an aspiring cartoonist at Smallville High before he was hit by a car in a hit and run. He lost the use of his hands but gained the power of telekinesis. Last known location; Belle Rive."

"And the other one?"

"Tyler McKnight; a victim of the first meteor shower and a handy man with glass - he used his craftsmanship with stained glass window making to control and harness his powers. Last known location –"

"Belle Rive." Clark's gaze rose to lock with Vicki's, "He's been collecting them from the start, hasn't he?"

"Luthor?" Bruce enquired.

Oliver nodded - his jaw tight, "His father started experiments at what he called Level Three in the Luthorcorp plant in Smallville. Lex then continued it with a great deal more - _success_ for want of a better word – with 33.1. From what we can tell he started testing the subjects, then messing around with a little experimentation until he got to the stage where DNA samples were enough for him to start building his army. We thought we'd got them all."

Vicki knew what was coming before he said it, "Obviously not."

Clark's gaze was still focused on Vicki's, "Which is why he wants you, isn't it?"

She managed a wry smile as she shrugged her shoulders, "It's all about the recycling these days."

"Because why keep creating new batches if you can re-use the ones you've got."

"Exactly."

Oliver tossed the photograph back down, scattering the others, "He has the army he wanted."

Clark pushed to his feet, "Then he's gonna get his war, isn't he?"

When Oliver did the same thing, Vicki realized they were planning on leaving and her eyes widened. Oh hell no. They weren't leaving her behind! But before she could open her mouth Bruce beat her to it.

"Wayne Industries has a new computer program I'd be prepared to offer the League. It's a sophisticated tracking system that was capable of tracing Vicki's location when she tried to hack into our database."

_What_?! Vicki blinked in surprise. Now what was he doing?

Oliver's head angled to one side with similar suspicion, "That's not possible. Our system is air-tight."

When he looked at her for confirmation Vicki grimaced, "Apparently not."

"Who else has this program?" His expression had darkened; Oliver knew what it meant for her movements to be tracked. It was to the Justice League what handing over the countries nuclear codes would be to the President.

"No-one." Bruce answered, "I can guarantee that."

"Would you bet our lives on it?"

"Yes."

"Would you bet _yours_?"

Bruce looked him straight in the eye without batting an eyelid, "Yes."

There was another tense silence as Oliver weighed up Bruce's sincerity and Vicki exchanged a wary glance with Clark. If the two billionaire's came to blows Vicki knew Clark could break it up. If it had been left to her, she might have watched for a while; cheering from Oliver's corner. But on a more serious note she knew it was a ground-breaking moment. What she didn't get was why Bruce was doing it. He'd already got more information in the space of an hour than she might have given him in weeks of enforced incarceration as his 'house guest'. He already had the upper hand. So why make the offer?

Oliver leaned his head back a little, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath and let it out. Then he looked at Vicki, "Have you seen the program?"

"No."

He looked back at Bruce, "How soon can she take a look at it?"

"First thing tomorrow."

Oliver nodded, "Okay. I'll wait to hear from Vicki then. Can I assume you'll provide her with a secure area to work in? She's indispensable to the team - we can't have her off-line."

"I'll make arrangements."

Vicki sat back down, fully aware of the fact the walls had just closed in on her again. At least until after she'd looked at the new program and tested it from every conceivable angle before integrating it into the League's database. She was even more trapped than she'd been before.

Oliver must have seen something in her eyes when he looked at her. He frowned for a moment, asked a familiar silent question she answered with a small shake of her head, then he focussed on Bruce again, "Whatever security system you have in place, can I suggest you look into trebling it while she's here?"

A fleeting hint of amusement crossed Bruce's face, "I think Vicki is aware she's not going anywhere."

She called him something bad inside her head. Then silently apologized to his mother for suggesting she hadn't been married to his father…

Oliver's gaze flickered back to hers, a sparkling respect in his eyes that told her he was proud of her for making Bruce's life difficult. Another small consolation in the battle she didn't feel like she was winning. Then his face took on a much more serious expression, "If the worst happens and Luthor finds out where she is – he'll come for her. He won't care how many bodies he leaves behind in the process. He'll tear this place down brick by brick to get to her. And he won't come alone. What he'll bring with him will make The Joker look like Pee-Wee Herman. You won't be able to take him on alone. It's because of people like him there's a Justice League."

Miraculously Bruce had remained silent, his gaze unwavering and the irritating habit he had of interrupting Vicki when she gave similar lectures nowhere to be seen. Vicki wondered how Oliver had managed that. She could do with a few tips. It also made her dislike Bruce all over again. It suggested he had more respect for Oliver than he had for her. Maybe size _did _matter.

"She'll need to bring me up to speed then, won't she?"

Oliver considered that with narrowed eyes, then nodded at Vicki; "Tell him what he needs to know."

Vicki's eyes widened, "All of it?"

"Everything he needs to know to defend this place. If it comes to that. Which it won't." He reassured her with a smile, "But just in case. Think Pythagoras."

Vicki smiled back at him when he added a wink. She'd got the message.

Clark set a hand on her shoulder, "You'll be fine. You've got all of us this time. We won't let anything happen to you."

There were times when they were all too protective of her. But it was good to know they were there. She just wished she wasn't stuck with Bruce for the foreseeable future. At least being in contact with them would give her a get out of jail card if she needed it. And since Bruce had agreed she could stay in contact…

Lifting a hand she squeezed the much larger one Clark still had on her shoulder, dropping her chin a couple of inches and looking up at him with meaning, "Just keep my cuz safe, okay? Don't let him use her to get to me."

"I won't."

When he lifted his hand, she stood up and lifted her chin, "Okay boys. Here's the deal. I'll stay here and look over the new program while bringing Bruce up to speed – which for the record will take a while; he has a tendency to be sceptical… and apparently anything outside of Gotham hasn't been much of a concern before. 'Cos as we all know it's rainbows and fluffy kittens everywhere else."

Oliver dropped his chin and stifled a smile while Clark looked more openly amused and Bruce gave her one of the intense, narrow eyed stares meant to intimidate her.

She smiled sweetly at him, "But I won't be held prisoner inside this house and I won't hide. I still have a job at the Gazette to do –" When all three of them looked like they were about to argue with her she held out a palm, "No. It's my turn to talk now. I'm already caving by agreeing to stay here when I don't want to. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I already gave up one life – I'm not giving him another. So I'm still gonna go to work where I can keep my ear to the ground and I'm still gonna do my job as a reporter. But I promise I'll let you know what I'm doing and when and where."

"You mean you'll let us know what you're planning on doing _before _the when and the where." Oliver clarified while Clark folded his arms and Bruce frowned darkly.

Vicki rolled her eyes, "Fine."

"You'll need a cover story for being here." Clark pointed out.

Oliver nodded, "Something plausible."

"That one's easy," She looked sideways at Oliver, "Hadn't you heard? I'm a peanut."

"You're a what?"

Reaching out a hand as she stepped past Bruce she brazenly patted his chest with her palm, "That one's all yours, Mister Heffner."

Then she smirked at him and headed for the door. She was in the hall when the possible ramifications of what she'd just volunteered to use as a cover hit her...


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX.**

_Gotham Gazette Offices – Morning._

"Well, well, look who decided to show up for work today…"

Vicki smiled at Knox on the way past his desk, "Nice to know I was missed."

"You didn't call, you didn't write," He swung his chair around, placed a palm over his heart, and assumed an overly-dramatic wounded expression, "I'm hurt Vick. I thought we had an understanding..."

Sorting through the messages on her desk, she shook her head at his antics, "So what did I miss while I was gone for a whole twenty-four hours?"

"Oh you know, the usual murder and mayhem. You heard the whisper is the Mayor is making a deal with the Joker?"

"Are you kidding me?" She tossed the junk mail into the waste paper basket beside her chair and frowned at him, "He's nihilistic anarchy personified. You can't deal with a person like him."

"Well, they're gonna try. Looks like they did a little Math and between what it cost the city last time he was here, and how much they stand to lose with the big party they've been planning, dealing with him seemed like the cheaper option." Knox shrugged, "Maybe he'll move to another city and make the same kind of deal. I'd skip Metropolis if I was him."

Vicki was still frowning when Knox's brow wrinkled in thought, "Gotta wonder why Superman hasn't dropped by to sort him out. Maybe he doesn't think Gotham is worth saving."

Or maybe someone had put their foot down and said no-one from the Justice League was allowed within five miles of Gotham. Vicki checked her wristwatch, "I gotta go. When are they making this deal?"

"Same whisper says the wheels are already in motion." When she gathered a couple of things from her desk, pushed them into her camera bag and turned to leave, Knox fell into step beside her, "You're on to something, aren't you? Care to share?"

Vicki looked up at him from the corner of her eye, "If it was anything that exciting do you honestly think I'd share?"

"You're breaking my heart Vicki, honey."

They stopped in front of the elevators, Knox pushing the button then leaning a shoulder against the wall and folding his arms. Vicki looked up at him again. He wasn't going to give up, was he? He never did. It wasn't a case of not trusting him with a story if she'd been chasing one, even though she'd teased him about it. He would never do that. At least not to her. But having confided in her, there was a very good chance he might think that was precisely what _she_ was doing to _him_. She took a deep breath and hoped he knew better,

"I'm shadowing Bruce for a few days to get that interview he promised me." When Knox's expression darkened, she turned towards him, her voice softening, "He's not what you think he is, Mark."

"Are you telling me that because you know I'm right about his little hobby, or because you don't want to believe it?"

She took a deeper breath and straightened her spine a little as she prepared to lie to one of the few friends she'd allowed herself to get close to at the Gazette. She hated doing it, but deception was part of her life now, "I'm telling you because I'm living at Wayne Manor. I'd know if he was going anywhere at night."

The implication was interpreted the way it was meant to be, Knox immediately unfolding his arms, pushing off the wall and frowning down at her, "_Vicki_-"

"I know what I'm doing."

"I can't believe this," He shook his head and stepped closer, "You too? Is there any woman in this city who doesn't think that guy is the last candy bar on the shelf? You of all people. It's your job to look below the surface. How can you not see -"

"You don't know him like I do."

"_Obviously_."

When the elevator doors slid open, Knox took her elbow and guided her inside before telling the person who walked up behind them; "Get the next one buddy."

Gently extricating her elbow as the doors slid shut again, Vicki smoothed down the front of her cream double breasted jacket, pushed her long hair over one shoulder and lifted her chin a very visible inch, "Look, I really appreciate your concern, I do, but-"

"But what?" He laughed sarcastically, "You love him? Gimme a break. You've only known the guy five minutes. And even if you weren't one of a long, _long_ line, there's still the small fact that, in the brief break you two love-birds took, you were replaced by at least two other peanuts. What the hell possessed you to move in with him? Have you lost your mind?"

"It's not like that."

"You're telling me you're not sleeping with him?"

Vicki hesitated. But if Knox didn't think she was having some kind of intimate relationship with Bruce then the cover story would never work. And she knew Knox. Dammit. To get to the truth he would dig deeper, especially if he thought something fishy was going on. Added to what he thought he already knew about Bruce...

But the hesitation was enough, "Jesus, Vick. Of all the guys in Gotham who aren't me, you had to pick _him_? Even if he's not a dangerous vigilante, the guy's a complete-"

"Stop it. You don't know him. No-one knows him-"

"Like you do?"

Actually she could have ended the sentence with no-one knows him. She very much doubted he let anyone get to know him. She felt that more and more with each passing day. They would get a small facet of him. A glimpse. And so far she hadn't had a glimpse of someone she could even be friends with never mind move in with after less than a few -

"This isn't you." Two hands lifted and settled on her narrow shoulders, Knox lowering his head to look deep into her eyes as he spoke to her with a calmer voice, "I know you. And that guy isn't good enough to open a damn door for you, no matter how much money he has."

When one of his hands lifted to her face and he tilted her chin up with his thumb, Vicki took a step back from him and shrugged free, "It's my life, Mark. I get to choose who I get involved with. I know what I'm doing and I've gone into this with my eyes wide open. If you know me as well as you think you do then you'd know that. I can take care of myself."

"If he cares about you, _he_ should be taking care of _you_. Is he doing that? Is he putting you first? Are you the most important thing in his life? Or are you just a challenge to him?" He smiled a small smile, "Cause I'll bet you didn't make it easy for him, did you?"

Vicki smiled back, "No. I didn't."

In the brief silence the elevator doors slid open. So Vicki reached out and squeezed his hand while stepping into the gap, "Thank you for caring. But I know what I'm doing." She damped her lips, "You really don't know him. No-one does until they spend time with him."

"Well, that's gonna be an impartial interview, isn't it?"

"It's not an expose, Mark."

"Because there's nothing to expose?" When someone behind Vicki cleared their throat to indicate they wanted to use the elevator, she stepped out of the way. And Knox followed her, "Or because he doesn't want you to think there is? You're a reporter – and a damn good one; one of the best. And you know the saying. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer..."

Shaking her head, she walked across the tiled foyer, "Think what you want. I'm telling you, you're wrong about him. It's up to you if you believe me. But what I do outside of the office is my business."

"He's not even your type."

It made her laugh. Because he really didn't have any evidence to base that assumption on. Apart from work, she hadn't spent time with any guy who wasn't a member of the League - except Knox. She hadn't dated anyone since before the Luthor trial. She couldn't let anyone get that close. The only person she'd even thought about in that sense had been Oliver, but it had been for a fleeting moment of weakness, and was understandable considering how very alone she'd felt at the time. He'd said as much when it happened. And she loved him dearly, but he was right, it would never have worked. She'd once thought of him as exactly the kind of playboy the world believed Bruce Wayne was – until he'd surprised her by getting involved with Dinah Lance. Having spent time with Bruce she had a suspicion his version of a playboy was nothing more than a disguise. There was no way in hell he would let any woman get close to him. If he couldn't trust fellow super-heroes then how could he trust someone who didn't understand everything that came with what he did as his alter-ego?

Stopping in front of the glass doors, she turned, looked up at Knox, and said something she immediately regretted; "As opposed to who? You?"

"Anyone but _him_." He jerked his chin at the doors.

She didn't have to look to know Bruce was there, "Well it is him, so you're going to have to get used to it. I don't want to argue with you about this. And I have to go. I'll see you in a couple of days."

Bruce was leaning nonchalantly against the side of his dark grey Lamborghini, his ankles crossed and his hands pushed deep into the navy trousers of his business suit. Armani should pay him to wear their suits judging by the number of women who gave him more than a second glance on their way past. A hint of a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth when one of them said 'Hi', and then he looked at Vicki as she walked towards him; his gaze flickering briefly to where she'd left Knox.

He uncrossed his ankles, removed his hands from his pockets and pushed to his full height as she got close, "Everything alright?"

Vicki nodded, keeping her back to Knox for a moment as she lowered her voice, "Except my friend isn't buying the peanut cover. So try and pretend to be charming until I get in the car. At least look remotely in the region of pleased to see me."

When she jerked her brows in challenge and turned sideways, his eyes narrowed a little in thought, "He thinks you're not my type?"

"According to the tabloids, any woman with a pulse is your type." She angled her head and smiled sweetly at him, "And as it happens, he doesn't get what _I_ see in _you_."

Bruce pressed his mouth into a thin line for a second, then he nodded as if he'd made a decision. She barely had time to figure out what was happening before long fingers were threading into the hair at the nape of her neck and his head was lowering towards hers. He couldn't seriously be thinking about -

Thick lashes lowered as his gaze focussed on her mouth and the air caught in Vicki's lungs. Her eyes widened, her voice a whisper of warning, "Don't you dare-"

"This was your idea," His warm breath washed over her lips as his face got closer and he muttered the words, "Not mine."

The next thing she knew, his mouth was on hers. When she tried to pull back he lifted his other hand and laid his palm against her throat; his thumb on her cheek while he wrapped the fingers in her hair around the back of her head and added enough pressure to still her. She moaned in complaint. He smiled against her lips. His mouth was firm and warm against hers; skilled in a way she'd never experienced before. When she didn't open to let him in he sucked her lower lip between his, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. When she reluctantly responded he purposefully kept the kiss soft and persuasive - lips coaxing as his tongue caressed. She shivered, he nipped her lower lip. _Good grief_ he was good at this! No wonder women fell over their feet to get to him. Vicki made a strangled sound in the base of her throat; half in protest, half in approval. When she opened her mouth to let the noise out, Bruce dipped the tip of his tongue in, curling it to tease the tip of hers. And suddenly she was leaning into him as if her legs couldn't hold her up, her pulse was rushing through her veins so fast it felt like she was on fire, her heart was pounding against her breastbone, she was -

Just as she surrendered to sensation, he dragged his mouth from hers. When she found the strength to open heavy eyelids, he was staring down at her with darkened eyes while she swayed a little and blinked him into focus. His hands moved, turned, his knuckles tracing along her jawline while Vicki stared up at him, mesmerized. Then he smiled a slow smile, his voice a deep rumble;

"I guess now he knows what you see in me, doesn't he?"

Vicki gasped in outrage at his monumental arrogance as he stepped back and opened the door for her. The small bow and incline of his head didn't do anything to endear him to her. Not when his eyes were sparkling with the knowledge of how she'd reacted to him. The fact he'd just made her toes curl didn't help any either! He was the most annoying, irritating, crass, over-confident -

Summoning a smile she stepped closer to the door that had formed a barricade between them, reaching up a hand to feign straightening his perfectly knotted tie, then pressing the tip of her forefinger into the dimple below the half-Windsor. Still smiling, she set her chin at an angle, "Ever do that again without asking for permission, I can guarantee you'll make the front page. And not in this particular outfit if you get what I mean."

"Don't tell me. The men in your life ask permission for _everything_ they do. Would you mind if I kiss you? May I undress you? Is it all right if I just throw you down on the nearest available bed and -"

Vicki forced out a short burst of laughter, "Really. I'd stop now if I were you. You already managed two out of three of those things without permission. Don't even think about the third. Maintaining this cover doesn't require extra-curricular activities."

"I thought undercover work was your forte."

Vicki angled her head in the opposite direction to before, "Undercover. Not _under covers_."

Bruce looked briefly amused, then glanced at the doors of the Gazette and stepped back, "Again. Your idea. Not mine."

Vicki glared at him as he walked around the front of the low slung sports car, mumbling beneath her breath as she slid into the seat, "Didn't think that one through enough, did I?"

The engine purred to life like a satisfied cat as Bruce manoeuvred them out into the morning traffic, weaving in and out of lanes on the way to Wayne Enterprises where Vicki was scheduled to look at the tracking software with someone called Lucius Fox. After taking the less than mature route of an almost sullen silence while looking out of the side window - attempting to ignore the tingling of her swollen lips as she watched a brightly lit Gotham go by - she forced herself to look at his profile,

"Did you know the Mayor is trying to make a deal with The Joker?"

"Yes."

"When did you know?"

"Not long after he agreed to it in a secret meeting with the Police Commissioner, the new D.A., and several high ranking council officials."

Vicki frowned when her errant gaze focussed on his mouth as he spoke. She forced it upwards as he glanced at her, "Why didn't you mention it?"

"I wasn't aware I had to report to you." He turned the wheel and changed up a gear with smooth economy of movement.

While Vicki shook her head. Why was she even surprised? Getting information out of him was like getting blood out of a stone, "Is that why you didn't stick around to be brought up to speed last night? Because you had to go meet whoever it was fed you the information?"

"Not because I patrol the streets of Gotham _every_ night."

"It isn't gonna be a five minute conversation, if that's what you think. You have a lot of catching up to do. You might have been guarding Gotham for the last few years, but some of us have been doing this for a lot longer. And on a much bigger scale."

"I thought size didn't matter." He glanced sideways at her again. Then smiled.

Vicki blinked. Then she focussed her gaze on the traffic in front of them as she figured it out, "This is you getting into character, isn't it?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you have to play a different part at Wayne Enterprises. That's why you're pretending to have a sense of humour." She folded her arms over her breasts and turned a little in her seat, resting her back against the door, "Lemme guess. More playboy billionaire than the not-so-convivial host I've had to endure since you kidnapped me."

"You do know in order for people to believe we're dating, you're going to have to give the general impression you consider me further up the evolutionary scale than pond scum." He negotiated another turn, "Especially since we're supposedly living together. Which – incidentally – means the vast majority of people will think you're spending a lot of time _under cover_."

Fighting the need to growl, Vicki came back with; "I'm not sprawling all over you like a cheap fur the way all your other decoys do, if that's what you're suggesting."

"You think they're decoys?"

"Believing you sleep with all of them won't put you any further up the evolutionary scale," She smirked.

When he didn't comment, she looked out of the tinted windscreen again, watching the citizens of Gotham braving another day with the Joker still on the loose, "He won't bargain with them, will he?"

Bruce didn't need clarification of the sudden change of subject, "No."

"Do you think he wants something? They all want something. It's the one commonality."

"Not this one. This one is the polar opposite to the first one I dealt with. He _definitely _wanted something."

The words made her look at his profile again, "R'as Al Gul."

"Yes."

Vicki read the news reports before she came to Gotham. But they'd been thin on the ground at best when it came to the kind of details she correlated for the Justice League, "Who was he?"

Thick lashes flickered as his gaze watched the traffic and large hands turned the steering wheel. Then his deep voice gave her an answer she hadn't expected, "My mentor."

When she'd gotten over her surprise enough to form another question, she opened her mouth to voice it only to have him glance at her as the car slowed and add; "We learn from our mistakes."

And now she had a string of questions, "How- ?"

"We're here."

_Wayne Enterprises - Morning._

Once he'd left Vicki with Lucius, Bruce walked down the deeply carpeted hallway to the corner office he rarely used; a small swarm of personnel descending and walking with him.

"The solar generator tests are back, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Fox thinks they have great potential. Maybe you'd like to take a look at the results?"

"Will I be able to understand them?"

The executive looked like he'd just lowered his I.Q. especially for Bruce's benefit, "We took out a lot of the scientific mumbo-jumbo..."

Bruce resisted the urge for sarcasm while a flustered assistant told him, "The Mayor's office called again -"

"Do you know who you're taking to the charity circus event?" His secretary interrupted.

Another secretary added, "Your inspection of the R&D Department is in twenty minutes Mr. Wayne. They've made great progress with the new cave diving apparatus you were interested in."

"The solar panel report is -"

Bruce stopped and held up a hand, "Stop!"

Everybody froze and stared at him.

"Okay," He smiled at them, "I want you all to just stand here for a minute and take a breather. Sixty seconds, everybody got it?"

They nodded.

"Good. Nobody move. Start counting; one... two... three..."

While they continued counting, Bruce walked away, turning on his heel and walking backwards as he grinned at his secretary, "Maggie - shall we?"

She caught up with him by his door as he asked, "Do you think I could give myself another raise?"

"You can if you tell me who you're taking to the circus," She closed the door behind them, "The society matrons of Gotham have called a record thirty-two times. Not to mention the press. I think if they don't know soon who you plan to take, the world will come to an end."

Bruce noticed an envelope sitting on the centre of his desk large desk as he walked round to his chair, "What's this?"

"I don't know." She stepped over the the other side of the desk and looked down at it, "I didn't put it there."

Bruce picked it up and looked it over. No postmark. No stamp. When he reached for a silver letter opener and sliced the top open, he found a photograph of himself from the society pages, with letters cut from newspapers and magazines pasted below to read: _'You saw me where I never was and where I could not be. And yet within that very place, my face you often see.'_

"Looks like you have a fan." Maggie raised an eyebrow when she read the signature upside down, "The Riddler? Why can't anyone in this town have a normal name?"

"Beats me."

The phone rang, so Maggie answered it while Bruce took off his jacket and hung it on a rack to one side of the floor to ceiling windows behind his chair, "Bruce Wayne's office. Yes Alfred, how are you? He is. One moment."

"Missing me, Alfred?"

"Something you might find interesting on Channel 21."

Bruce hit a button on his desk and the flat screen TV in the middle of a set of shelving lining one wall flickered to life, "A talk show?"

"Oh I think you'll find this one fascinating. And it's just been syndicated..."

The Gordon Godfrey show was talking to a panel of experts - the golden haired, golden tanned host filling the screen with a smile that almost required sunglasses, "-joined us, we're talking about the rise in costumed vigilantes in the United States. More specifically, and rather appropriate while the circus is in town, we're talking about Gotham City's Batman-

Bruce nodded at Maggie, "Put Vicki Vale's name down on the invitation, Maggie. Think you can rustle me up one of those amazing coffees of yours to kick-start my busy day?"

Maggie smiled, "With the usual number of aspirins?"

"See? That's why I love you."

While she left the room the chat show host continued, "- last feud with the Joker cost the city an estimated thirty-five million dollars. Today's topic: Batman. Crime-fighter or criminal?"

Bruce shook his head, "Haven't we heard this before?"

"Yes, I thought you'd enjoy it."

"Do me a favour. Get Vicki an evening dress for a formal event. Shoes. Whatever else she might need."

"Taking her somewhere nice, are we?"

"To my natural habitat, apparently."

On-screen the shot widened. The first expert panellist revealed to be a Dr. Janislaus Royce, according to the bottom of the screen, "Batman is a major cause of crime in Gotham. So-called super-villains seek him out hoping to prove themselves in violent conflict. Batman does not deter crime, he _invites it_."

The second expert, a Councillor Davis Aims piped in, "What is the Dark Knight's credo? Batman doesn't kill? What of those who died during his fight with the Joker? What about Harvey Dent?! Batman belongs behind bars with his morally disadvantaged victims, or in the electric chair for the murder of our beloved District Attorney."

"Bull-"

A loud bleep covered the last part of the word spoken from off-screen as the host blinked in surprise, "What did you say?"

"Which part of the word didn't you understand?" Said a pretty blonde haired woman as the camera panned across to her.

Bruce sat down in his chair and read the bottom of the screen. Dr. Arlene Quinn. He lifted a brow, "The woman's not bad."

"Batman is a _reaction_ to the crime in this city, not the creator of it!" She continued, "Without him many more would be dead. Batman is a true hero..."

The host smiled and winked at the audience, "Looks like the Doc has the hots for Batman..."

There was laughter from the audience.

The bottom of the screen began to scroll again, "BATMAN: CRIMEFIGHTER OR CRIMINAL? What do you think? Call us at..."

"So what kind of dress am I getting for the lovely Miss Vale? And more to the point, does she know I'm getting it?"

"She doesn't know you're getting it. If she knew, she'd know she was going somewhere, wouldn't she? Since dating as a disguise was her idea, it seems a shame for her not to reap some of the benefits." Bruce turned off the TV and picked up the letter again to distract him from thoughts of what had happened on the sidewalk outside the Gazette, "How are you with riddles, Alfred?"

_City Hall – Early Afternoon._

Mayor Garcia sat impatiently at a long table, flanked by Jim Gordon, Dana Worthington, and other prominent officials. The room was packed with reporters and TV news crews.

A man spoke to camera, "... at City Hall, where the mayor is waiting to open negotiations with the clown-faced terrorist known as the Joker. It is now eight minutes past the appointed deadline, and still no word from -

_Gotham Gazette – Same Time._

Staffers clustered around a bank of four TV sets, each tuned to a different station, all broadcasting from city Hall.

"Look at 'em sweat. Can't wait for the next Gallup Poll."

"Hey Knox, cheer up. It ain't the Batman but it's pretty choice."

Knox responded with a smirk. His mood hadn't improved any since his morning conversation with Vicki and the revelations of her love life. Something was going on and he wasn't the least bit happy about it. Part of him had even questioned whether she was chasing the story he was sitting on. If she was he would never forgive her. Especially if she got the concrete evidence he needed to go to press and make the front page across the planet. But she wouldn't do that. Not the Vicki Vale he knew. She had a higher code of ethics than pretty much any reporter he'd ever met or heard of, let alone worked with. It was why he bounced story ideas off her as often as he did. She had good instincts. He'd always respected that.

So where the hell were those instincts when it came to Bruce Wayne?! Knox couldn't believe she'd actually fallen for him! But if she had...

There was a sudden hubbub from the onlookers as all of the screens changed at the same time; slicing in half with one side still at City Hall and the other covered in video static. As the cameras at City Hall zoomed in on the Mayor's face at varying speeds, the other half of the screen cleared to reveal the Joker. He tapped the screen with a gloved forefinger and leaned in, filling the camera lens with his grotesque face as he squinted,

"Is this thing on? Anyone home?"

The Mayor fumbled for his prepared statement, "Yes, I'm here," He cleared his throat, "While this administration remains vehemently opposed to terrorism in any form, we are prepared to negotiate any reasonable demands which will guarantee the safety of the populace."

"Huh. Demands." The Joker sat back down and shrugged his shoulders high, holding his arms out to his sides for a moment, "Well, this is kinda embarrassing, but... I'm having such a swell time... I just haven't thought any up."

There was a startled reaction from the city officials as the Joker lowered his arms and made a show of tugging down his cuffs and waistcoat while he continued, "But I'm a reasonable man. If you want to make me an offer..."

The Mayor looked around at his companions, "All right. Here's the deal. Total amnesty... and the sum of ten million dollars, payable in –"

"Ten million dollars. Ten million dollars?!" In the blink of an eye he became as deranged as everyone knew him to be, "Ten mi - I've just wiped out the stock market. I've cost you billions! I burned billions of the Mob's money _justforthefunofit_ last time. Didn't you know that?!" In another blink of the eye he was calm, still, and almost petulant, "I'm disappointed in you Mister Mayor. I expected better from Gotham's highest ranking official. I'd like..."

He rolled his eyes upwards, lifted his chin, and seemed to be considering his options, then he dropped his chin and looked directly into camera with hooded, sadistic eyes, "I want ten million and _one_. But not from you. See, I take what I want. My dear old mom taught me never to accept handouts."

The Mayor tried to stall, "No, wait! We'll talk. Just tell us what you expect to-"

"I expect to be treated with the respect I deserve as a man of my word!" He rolled his tongue over his lips and moved closer to the lens with each sentence, "So here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna call all my friends to see what they want, too. Maybe we'll make up a nice, long list of demands. And then maybe we'll get together - have a party - exchange gifts."

His scarred, sickening smile filled the screen, "Happy Birthday, Gotham."

The transmission ended.

There was frantic activity all around Knox as reporters rushed to their telephones and keyboards. Knox stood still and let it all happen, then walked slowly back to his desk. Everyone was focussed on the Joker, while he was sitting on the story of his career. Would anyone even care? Who else could go up against the Joker? Batman was the only one who could take him on last time. A freak to fight a freak. If he died doing it he might even end up a martyr...

Knox sat at his desk for a long time. He thought about the city and the Joker and Vicki and his career as a newspaper man. Then he made a decision. He knew he was right about Bruce Wayne. And he knew what had to be done.

_Wayne Manor – Late Evening:_

Boxes of Justice League equipment were delivered to the Manor in their absence, so Vicki spent the afternoon holed up in the cave putting everything together in the space Bruce had allocated her. She wouldn't let him help beyond allowing him the privilege of carrying boxes, but since he didn't break a sweat while doing it, she refused to feel bad. And she had a new program to play with. It was as clever as Bruce said it was; Lucius Fox answering all her questions with a calmness that made her instantly like him, though she did leave Wayne Enterprises wondering just how much he knew about the man he worked for...

When Bruce unceremoniously dumped the last box down on the desk beside her, Vicki looked at it from the corner of her eye, "If it had 'Caution Glass' stamped on the side would you have drop kicked it?"

"You're welcome." He set large hands on lean hips and looked down at what she was doing, "I assume you've put this together several times."

"We've been known to pack and set up with equal amounts of urgency. Not all of us have nice cosy caves to play in. I take it you have fibre optic cabling in here?"

The League had always used fibre optic cables, no matter where they were. With security of paramount importance fibre optics had a benefit over metallic cabling, in that unlike metals which transmitted electrical signals that could be tapped and monitored while still being sent or received by the intended computers, they used light - which was far more difficult, though not impossible, to monitor because it produced very few electromagnetic pulses, radiation, or noise. Remote tapping was nearly impossible. And the only practical way to eavesdrop on a fibre optic cable was to physically tap into it, which was difficult since, if the cable was cut open to install the tap, the signal was either lost or substantially degraded. But Vicki bet Bruce knew all that.

"Yes. You do know if a fibre optic cable was cut, it could still be attached to another computer with two network interface cards to monitor network packets?" He waited for her to look up at him before continuing, "The higher bandwidth and packet refresh rate makes security systems more alert to delayed packets. Of course, theoretically, signals could be sent at the speed of light if a completely empty cable was invented."

Vicki felt her mouth curling into a smile at the sight of his '_I'm not an idiot so don't treat me like one_' expression, so she pressed her lips together to stop it happened, "Haven't you mastered the completely empty cable part? Seems to me that's a pretty advanced R&D department you got going on at Wayne Enterprises..."

"We're looking into it."

"Mmm... though how you're gonna pass that off as part of some thrill-seeking, rich playboy's Xtreme sport should be interesting." Standing tall after finishing the cabling, she turned and rested her hip against the edge of the long, curved desk, "Cave diving. _Really_? They buy that lame excuse?"

"So far."

"What are you really gonna do with it?"

"That would be on a need to know basis." He smiled lazily.

Vicki lifted a brow as she folded her arms, "I see we're back to not-so-convivial host mode."

"I can switch if you want to test a few scenarios for your new undercover role."

"Are you this annoying with everyone, or am I just incredibly lucky?"

"Maybe you bring out the best in me."

"Maybe you're just more comfortable down here in the company of fellow rodents."

"Actually bats are of the mammalian order Chiroptera, while rodents are of the mammalian order Rodentia. Therefore, bats aren't rodents, they're more closely related to primates."

"Well aren't you just a walking Wikipedia."

Bruce folded his arms in a mirror of her stance, "Do you hold a grudge for this long every time a guy kisses you without written consent?"

A buzzer sounded on the desk behind him before Vicki could answer, so Bruce turned around and reached over to press a button, "Yes, Alfred."

"You have a visitor, Master Bruce. I've taken the liberty of showing him into the library."

"I'll be there in a moment."

"Very good sir."

Bruce turned and stared at Vicki until she rolled her eyes in response, "I promise not to hack every byte of your database while you're gone. I have enough to do getting Watchtower back online. And anyway, you won't be gone long, right? Cos you still have some getting up to speed to do, don't you?"

"I thought that could be dinner conversation." He glanced at the bank of screens beside him as if he still wasn't certain he could trust her alone for five minutes, "Things have been a little busy, schedule wise, since last night."

Plus he still didn't see it as being high on his list of priorities, did he? Maybe he thought he'd got enough from his fact finding mission with Oliver and Clark. Boy did he have a surprise headed his way. Vicki smiled sweetly, "I'll print you off the necessary reading material and visual aids."

His gaze shifted from the monitors to tangle with hers, "Do I get the Cliffsnotes?"

"Oh no," Vicki shook her head and pouted, "You get the full and unabridged version."

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

"Don't you have a visitor waiting for you above sea level?"

"I won't be long." He was halfway to the service elevator when his voice echoed around the cave, "Don't touch anything."

Alfred met him in the study, "It's Mr. Knox from the Gotham Gazette."

It was? Bruce frowned as he closed the bookcase behind him, still unhappy with leaving Vicki unsupervised. It might have helped ease his conscience if he hadn't known how good she was at hacking into a computer. It might also have helped if he didn't have an innate talent for irritating her to the point where she might hack into his system just to spite him.

"And he asked to see me. Not Vicki."

"I might be getting on in years, but I'm not senile yet. He asked for you." Alfred stood a little taller, "In fact when I said you were unavailable, he said to tell you he came to talk to Batman."

"What?"

"Thought that might get your attention. I said I had no idea what he meant by that. He said you would. So I told him I checked with you and you didn't know either, but you would take five minutes to try and assist him."

Bruce walked through the room with him, "That was good of me."

"I thought so," Alfred walked beside him, "If it'd been up to me I'd probably have told him he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic."

"I think I'll try a different approach. Something with less of a hint at insanity." He glanced at Alfred, "You know, on the off chance he might actually have something he can print on the front page of a major newspaper."

"Very wise decision."

A clearly agitated Knox was drumming his fingers on the edge of a large leather, wing-backed chair when Bruce walked in, "Mr. Knox. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Knox stood up and turned to face him, "It's pretty simple Wayne. You know the score. One column and I can bring all this tumbling down. I can take you off the streets once and for all."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about. Alfred mentioned something about Batman? You think the vigilante might come here?"

A muscle jumped in Knox's jaw, "I want you to hang up the suit. And I want you to stay away from Vicki."

Bruce smiled a purposefully slow smile, "Ah, I see. This is about Vicki."

"She deserves better than you."

"I think that's her decision, don't you?"

Knox seemed to hesitate for a second then; "Not if there's the remotest chance she might get seriously hurt because of your nocturnal activities."

"Not that my private life is any of your business Mr. Knox, but I can assure you I'm not cheating on, Vicki."

"I'm not talking about you sleeping around. But let's face facts here – it's only a matter of time before _that_ happens. It's your M.O. And when it happens, she'll get hurt in a different way." He stepped closer when Bruce remained impassive, "I don't know how you did it - she's a smart girl and you're an extraordinarily screwed-up guy – but she seems to think she's in love with you. Can you say the same thing about her?"

Bruce remained silent.

Knox smiled sarcastically, "Now there's a surprise."

"Mr. Knox -"

"Hang up the suit Wayne. Stay the hell out of her life. You do both and I bury the story. Even if you did love her, where the hell could this go? You gonna marry her? Batman and Mrs. Batman?" He laughed bitterly, "That the kinda life you want to share with someone you love? How selfish are you?"

Bruce considered him with hooded eyes. He still hadn't said anything to indicate he had actual proof. Was he bluffing? Bruce wondered if Vicki was aware of how her work colleague felt about her. Had they been together at some point? If the man cared about her and had evidence to corroborate the claim that Bruce was Batman, then he could certainly understand his concern. But shouldn't he have spoken to Vicki first? Listened to what she had to say and respected her decision? Maybe she hadn't been convincing enough. Maybe Knox knew her well enough to know she was lying - or at least thought he did until Bruce kissed her outside the Gazette offices. When she'd kissed him back like she meant it; making Bruce forget – for just the briefest moment – that it was a ruse.

Knox took a deep breath, "I just want your word. Surely the great Wayne name has a grain of honour left in there somewhere..."

"There's something I don't understand." Pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Bruce walked around him, "If you've got this story, why haven't you printed it?"

"Because I -" He stood still while Bruce circled him, "Because if she's really in love with you and she knows your big secret, she'd never forgive me for not trusting her judgement. She seems to think you're misunderstood. That if I knew you better I'd see you're not that bad a guy. You did one hell of a number on her."

Maybe she hadn't done that bad a job of being convincing after all, "Don't you think if I was Batman, with the Joker back on the streets, now would hardly be the most opportune moment to quit?"

"I'm not getting into the morals behind why you do what you do. I could give a crap past the story getting me the headline of the year. I won't let you get Vicki killed the same way you did Rachel Dawes."

"I suggest you leave now Mr. Knox. I've humoured your delusions for long enough," Bruce nodded at the door as Alfred appeared, "Alfred will see you to the gates."

"I mean it Wayne – I'll print the story."

Bruce walked away, "You already would if you had proof."

When Alfred returned, Bruce was staring out of one of the leaded panes of glass in the large windows; "I secured the gates and set the alarms."

Bruce nodded.

"Is Miss Vale ready for dinner? No bloody point asking you, you'd starve to death if I waited for you to come looking for food."

"She's still downstairs."

"Unattended."

Bruce smiled wryly, glancing over his shoulder, "Where's she going to run to, Alfred? You locked the gates and set the alarms."

"Good point." Alfred joined him at the window, "Some of the things he said a were a little close to home I take it."

Bruce stared out into the falling darkness again, feeling it enveloping him like a blanket; almost as if he found security in it. It felt like a very long time since he'd taken up the mantle of Batman. That he'd aged well beyond the number of years he'd been carrying it. At the beginning he'd been so determined he could do some good. That he could make a difference. That he could be a symbol. Had he become the antithesis of all he'd hoped to achieve? Had he given up everything for nothing?

His gaze strayed towards the silhouette of the new greenhouses, "Do you remember the day I fell down the well and disturbed the bats in the cave, Alfred?"

"I do. Your father climbed down to get you. You broke your arm."

"The day Batman was born." He inhaled, "At least when his birth was foreshadowed."

Alfred used the same low, patient tone filled with wisdom that he'd had for as long as Bruce could remember, "I think we both know that wasn't the day he was born. It was after that the seed was sown."

Bruce didn't debate it with him, "I can still remember the bats that day. The sound of them approaching. The darkness. The fear. How loud and fast my heart was beating. When I came back from Bhutan I thought if I became something that instilled that kind of fear in the hearts of the people who had Gotham by the throat, I could do some good. I thought I'd mastered fear and could harness it's power. I was wrong. All I did was exacerbate the problem."

"You were there when the city needed you most. You still are. That's what matters."

"Some people think I became Batman to fight crime. They're wrong. I became Batman to fight fear. And instead I became part of the fear."

Alfred held something out in front of him, "Perhaps it's time you paid a bit more attention to Bruce Wayne. This was on the gate."

Bruce looked down at the envelope and frowned, "Another one?"

_'You heard me before, yet you hear me again. Then I die, till you call me again.'_

Alfred nodded, "Nice to have someone pay attention to you, instead of Batman. Makes a pleasant change, don't you think?"

"A change is as good as a rest?"

"Sometimes it takes a new challenge to turn the page."

The bookshelf on the other side of the room swung open and Vicki appeared. She froze for a second and stared at them as they stared at her, "What?"

"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Miss." Alfred smiled, then turned to leave the room.

"Do you need any help?" She asked.

"No Miss, but I appreciate the offer."

"Thanks Alfred. I'll go back down and get the files I need." She smiled sweetly at Bruce, "Don't worry, your database is still intact. You're okay with a Pokemon screensaver though, right?"

Bruce followed her back into the elevator "That better be a joke."


	7. Chapter 7

_Just wanted to say THANK YOU once again to everyone who had read and left so many encouraging comments about this story! Can't tell you how much it means that you're enjoying it and want to see more. I never expected to enjoy writing this story as much as the Superman ones I've worked on, but it's proving a bit of an obsession now and is really making me work my imagination, which can only be a good thing :) I just wish real life would allow me more time to work on it. Thank you so much for the support!!! As to who I would cast for the Riddler and a possible Robin... can I wait to answer that? I don't want to give away too much too soon in case I spoil it for you and you stop reading. Once we're a few more chapters in hopefully you'll understand why and can tell me who you would see cast to play them and another Batman-universe character who will appear shortly ;) Thanks again guys! I hope the story will continue to be worth reading..._

**Chapter Seven.**

_Wayne Manor – Late Evening/Night._

"Not a Pokemon fan?"

Pulling the bookcase shut behind them, he tugged the gate into place and pressed the button before turning to look at her. She looked distinctly like she was stifling laughter, "Don't tell me – she's not from Earth and she can bend spoons without touching them..."

"You really don't get out much, do you?"

Vicki continued stifling a grin as the elevator descended back into the cave, the anticipation of his reaction to what was waiting for him the most fun she'd had in what felt like weeks. It was worth practically jogging to keep up with his longer stride so she could stay a little ahead and see his expression. Amazing the difference having Watchtower back online could make to her general sense of happiness. It was like getting a part of herself back again.

Stepping onto the platform, Bruce's gaze immediately lifted to the bank of monitors - where there wasn't a Pokemon in sight. Not that Vicki reckoned he'd have known one if it ran him over in a bus with Pokemon written in big letters on the sides. It took a second then she got a deep. flat toned;"What is that?"

"The unabridged version of bringing you up to speed." She angled her head and continued smiling, "Happy reading."

Bruce stepped closer, taking in the piles of papers and the rhythmical hum of the printer as it continued producing more, "You're aware there's a rainforest problem."

"The good this information will do for the planet in the long run balances it out, trust me." She pointed at the first pile, "These are all the metahumans we currently have on file; abilities, origins and last known locations."

She pointed at the next pile, "These are the alien lifeforms the League has encountered to date, sorted alphabetically; abilities, threat level, planet of origin, affiliations if any..."

"These," She pointed at the next one, "Are alien technologies and their possible applications, risk factors and accessibility; including cross-references to the aliens we've encountered who used them. This pile -"

"How long did you say you'd been collecting these?"

"Over a decade. Though some of it dates back to when I was in High School."

Having picked up a random file to glance over, Bruce frowned at her, "You were collecting information on aliens and people with enhanced abilities in High School? But _I'm_ the one who doesn't get out much."

"It wasn't a case of Field Of Dreams '_build it and they will come_'. It involved going out into the world and looking at the bigger picture outside of the bubble we grew up in," She let a smile loose, "Don't worry, you'll catch up eventually."

"We?"

Out of all the information he'd been given so far, that was the one word he'd picked up on? Vicki shook her head and blinked incredulously, "You don't miss a trick, do you?"

For some completely abstract reason, her errant gaze focussed on his mouth while a tingle whispered over her skin with the accompanying memory. Okay. That really had to stop. She forced her gaze upwards and found his eyes sparkling dangerously. He jerked his head at the piles of paper, "There's a file on you in there?"

"No."

"You're going to bring me up to speed personally on that subject, are you?"

She'd been thinking about that ever since Oliver left the decision in her hands. Though not in the way Bruce had just intimated. '_Think Pythagoras_,' Oliver had said before he left. In other words, think like the numbers guy, run the numbers; add everything up and come to a logical decision on her own. He trusted her judgement. And she'd spent a good portion of the night thinking about it, lying in a huge bed in the silent, cavernous house while Bruce patrolled the streets of Gotham. Did he ever sleep? She hadn't had much evidence of it so far. But somewhere in her silent vigil it had come down to something else Oliver had said recently, so she used the same words;

"Trust is a two way street."

Setting the file down, Bruce seemed to take the time to think about what she'd said, and Vicki appreciated the fact he was doing even that much. Especially since he'd left her alone in the cave. Something he wouldn't have done twenty-four hours ago. He was so different from the members of the League she'd known the longest. Not that all of them didn't have trust issues, but with Bruce it was different. It went deeper. Was a more firmly held conviction. An old scar that hadn't healed? She glanced up at the bank of monitors and considered telling him -

"Your friend Knox was here."

Vicki frowned, "Mark came to see you?"

"He came to issue an ultimatum."

The change in his stance made Vicki aware that whatever the ultimatum had been it didn't bode well for Bruce trusting her. He was suddenly taller, broader, darker and more dangerous. Batman without the disguise. Bruce Wayne behind another, this time invisible, mask. It wasn't just about what he did any more, was it? It was who he'd become. It made Vicki want to know what he'd been like before. Especially when she looked back and remembered the person Chloe Sullivan had been, how her experiences had changed her, what she'd had to leave behind and the person _she'd_ become. She'd been several different people over the years, with varying different names. She wasn't all that different to Bruce in that aspect.

Swallowing to loosen her vocal chords she searched his eyes and found steely intensity, "What kind of ultimatum?"

"Get out of your life. Hang up the suit. And he'll drop the Batman expose."

Vicki felt the colour drain from her face, "I'll talk to him."

"You knew."

The calm accusation sat like a lead weight in the air between them, then Bruce nodded as if her expression had already confirmed his suspicion. He was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. If she had to hazard a guess she would say he was pretty high up the genius I.Q. scale. And it wasn't like she'd jumped straight in to deny it, was it?

"He doesn't have enough evidence to go to print. It's speculation. He's bluffing."

Bruce continued staring down at her, his expression unreadable, "But you knew he was investigating me and you knew he'd made a connection."

"He made the connection before I did."

"I very much doubt that. How much does he know?"

"Not much. Scattered clues. What happened to your parents as a possible catalyst. Putting your car between a pick-up truck and Colman Reese. Some speculation on your reaction to what happened with the Mimes the day I met you for lunch..." She grimaced a little at the last part.

Because Bruce's eyes narrowed, "How would he know my reaction that day?"

"Okay, that may have been part of _me_ putting the pieces together," She tried to remember what she'd said to Knox that day and was certain she hadn't said anything incriminating, "For the record; even when I didn't know it was you, I was defending the pro-Batman side of the debate. Considering what I do as Watchtower, it was easier for me to understand the motivation."

"But you knew he was investigating me."

"Yes." She frowned in frustration, "But he didn't have anything. He can't run that story without opening up the possibilities of the kind of lawsuit the Gazette won't be able to afford to fight against a man of your means."

She still couldn't believe Knox had tried to blackmail Bruce that way. What was he thinking? Had he lost his mind? If he thought Batman was a vigilante who would cross the line and murder people to get the job done, how could he have thought blackmailing him was a good idea? And how dare he interfere with her, technically fake, private life?!

"I'll talk to him. He had no right to -"

"Didn't you think it might be an idea to tell me I was being investigated?" Bruce frowned, "Or isn't that scenario in the Justice League handbook?"

"Now wait just a minute -"

"You figured it out in a short space of time. You're a reporter. Or are you saying you're better at your job than he is?"

"I work with a team of people like you! I know what to look for. And I'm not in the habit of uncovering their identities on the front page of a newspaper. I never have been. Even before I was officially Watchtower. I've been keeping secrets for people like you for longer than -"

Bruce leaned closer to her, his voice in the region of the husky edged tone that placed fear in the hearts of criminals when accompanied by a cape and a cowl, "Why should I trust you when you allowed someone to get close to revealing who I am, without _telling me_ there was a problem?"

"It _wasn't_ a problem!"

"_Yet_."

Even though she could see it from his perspective, Vicki couldn't allow something that wasn't a problem - _yet _- to effect the very small amount of progress she'd made building trust with him. Did he think if there was the remotest chance Knox was close to revealing the truth with facts and hard evidence she wouldn't have warned him? Why would she do that? Part of the reason she'd stayed in the newspaper business, even though it was the equivalent of hiding in plain sight, was so that she could keep her eyes and ears open to exactly this kind of thing. What Bruce didn't understand was she wasn't as much the reporter as she was Watchtower. She'd wanted to be a reporter from an early age – it had been her dream- but experiences had changed her perspective over the years. The early experiences she had investigating 'Meteor Freaks' at her High School paper had shown her the world was very different from the way most people perceived it. She'd seen and experienced things some would have considered Science Fiction. Back then, she'd reported all of it, no matter how much closer it placed her credibility to the world of Arthur C. Clark than Woodward and Bernstein. When she'd discovered Clark's secret, and everything that went with it, the ground had shifted beneath her feet like sand; everything changed. Suddenly she could see things in a completely new light. The universe was a much larger place. Understandable in a sense, since not long after making the leap from High School newspaper editor to intern at the Daily Planet, she was automatically taken from local to global in terms of news. But it was more than that. By then she was already judging the merit of the stories she investigated in a completely different way. How much was the world ready to know? How much could be revealed without causing mass panic? What could she uncover without it leading to someone she cared about having his life change forever? How could he help people and stop terrible things from happening if he had to hide from the people who either feared or hunted him - or _both_?

She'd gone from seeking the truth and reporting it so knowledge could help protect the masses, to seeking the truth and covering some of it up to help those who protected the masses from horrors they couldn't even begin to imagine.

Then she'd discovered she was one of the very people she'd once sought to expose. There was a certain irony to that, that hadn't escaped her. The shoe was on the other foot. But by putting all of those experiences together with her investigating skills as a reporter, she'd known that as much as being a journalist was part of who she was – a _big part_ of who she was – she could do more than just sit at a desk and report the news. She didn't have the same capabilities as Clark, but she was just as capable of helping stop a disaster from happening and darkness from taking over the world with the rest of the League as any of them were. Individually they could all do something; creating a ripple like the kind created by tossing a stone in a pond - though some of them had bigger rocks to throw than others. Together, they could have a much greater effect. Bruce would have to understand, if she'd seen a problem with Knox, she'd have dealt with it. Of course she'd have told him what was happening! But it was all about risk assessment. And up until he'd made the decision to confront Bruce, Knox hadn't been that big a threat. There were much bigger things to worry about and focus on. Vicki knew Bruce would understand that if she could just find a way to talk to him about it without it becoming another way of trading jibes, insults or heated words. She sighed heavily. It just kept coming back to the issue of trust, didn't it? When he turned his head to look at the monitors, she studied his profile and tried to find the words to make him understand.

"Bruce-"

"Something is happening."

Her gaze followed his to the monitors as he stepped back and tugged his sweater over his head. When he reached for the nearest terminal and zoomed in on four screens, she saw what he could see. Banks were being hit all over the city in what looked like a coordinated attack. On the day the Joker had turned down ten million dollars and said he could take what he wanted? It wasn't a coincidence.

While Bruce moved away and was changing, Vicki began recording the feeds from the security cameras, "Take a com with you and I can help from here."

"I'll handle it."

Vicki scowled at him as he snapped panels of the suit into place, "I can be your eyes and ears. It's what I do."

"No."

"You're not dealing with a rookie here," She moved to the space she'd been allocated and called up the police radio frequencies on the League's database so she could hear what they were doing, "Take the com."

With a speed born of practice, he snapped the last panel into place and reached for his belt as he toed off his shoes and replaced them with boots, "I've never worked with you before and this is hardly the time for a test run."

The cave echoed with sudden chatter as the police band came to life. They'd sent the majority of their units to the first two locations, but now they were scrambling to try and delegate man-power in the best possible way to cover all the banks at once. The front of Gotham Savings and Loan exploded on one of the monitors.

"Take it with you and then you at least have the option. You don't have to do this alone." She rummaged in one of the boxes she hadn't finished unpacking and found the flat metallic case she kept spares in while she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and fitted her own, "If I know where you are I can do simple things like make sure there isn't anything in your way. Here."

She held the com out towards him as he clipped the cape on and reached for the cowl. When he didn't take it she jerked it at him, "_Take it_. Ignore me if you want. But if you need help and you don't have it with you, I can't do anything."

Dark eyes stared straight into hers for what felt like forever, but could only have been a matter of seconds. Then gloved fingers took the com and a gruff voice told her; "Record everything from the feeds."

Vicki smiled, "Already on it."

While he ran off the platform and got into the Tumbler, she pulled over a chair and got to work, the sound of engines gunning and the squeal of tires echoing off the cathedral like ceiling of the cave as he made the turn to leap out of the waterfall. By the time he was hitting the outskirts of Gotham she had control of the traffic signals, an infra red satellite feed on one of the monitors in front of her, and another with a map of the city with each of the targets flashing red as they were hit.

"Bank of Gotham. 3rd and Main. It's the only large bank they haven't hit that keeps money for the city council." There was a moment of silence after she spoke into the com, and Vicki held her breath.

"On my way."

_  
Bank of Gotham – Night:_

A titanic boom rocked the night and rubble ballooned outwards from the side of a the building. The already crumbling wall behind the Joker exploded as he checked the fob watch in his hand, completely unaffected by the noise and debris as the giant wrecking ball crashed into the room within inches of him.

"Right on schedule."

Men scrambled to the hole, attaching chains to an even thicker chain dangling thirty stories from the roof of the construction site next door. It yanked tight, forming a line between the bank and a Blackhawk helicopter perched on steel beams as it's rotors slowly began to turn. Then a giant winch aboard the chopper started to haul the chain attached to a large metal container filled with money, over pulleys, and up into a cargo hold.

Inside the bank, a man stood at the windows with binoculars yelled across the room, "Here he comes!"

The chains yanked the metal container towards the hole in the wall as The Joker pocketed his watch in his waistcoat and wandered across the room, lifting his arm in front of him to fire bullets into one of the windows; shattering the glass. Then he casually handed over the gun and waggled his fingers for a rocket launcher.

"What about the guard?"

"Kill him."

The guard started yelling, "Wait! You said you'd let me go!"

"Then the joke's on you."

"No! No, please -"

A single shot sounded out as the Joker lifted the rocket launcher to his shoulder and aimed it downwards at the street where the dark vehicle was approaching at speed. Closing one eye, he lined up the sight, "That's it, that's it... keep coming... Steady. Steady... _a-and_..."

The Joker watched as the rocket exploded close to its target; the vehicle barrelling through a flaming car that landed in its path as there was a 'ding' from the elevators inside the bank. Thugs opened fire with machine guns, armour piercing bullets punching holes in the metal doors and shredding anyone who might be inside. The men re-loaded as the Joker turned away from the windows, his large eyes looking upwards, searching the ceiling as he stepped forwards; gaze then lowering to check the rest of the war zone that was the bank's open plan office space as he muttered below his breath.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

The perforated elevator doors slid, jerking, guns aimed at the empty space they revealed. Then another one of the windows behind them exploded inwards in a rain of glass and Batman swung through the gap. He rolled across the floor as a hail of bullets cut a swathe around him, shredding paper, pieces of wood and glass and sending them flying in all directions as he righted himself and started taking on anything or anyone in his path.

A calm, feminine voice sounded in his ear, "Two... one..."

Fire doors blew open on the other side of the room, SWAT teams bursting in and yelling as they aimed their weapons, "Down! Get down!"

"Armed police! Weapons down!"

The Joker backed away from the chaos as some of his thugs fired and were taken out while others dropped their weapons and held their hands in the air.

"Party's over, boys." He reached into the pockets of his rumpled grey jacket and produced two grenades; popping the pins and tossing them to either side of the room.

"Grenade!"

"Grenade! Take cover!"

"_Take cover_."

Batman tossed a metal desk to the side and ducked down behind it. But the explosions didn't come, instead smoke filled the room as the Joker leapt out the hole in the wall, using the rising metal container as a springboard to close the windy gap and roll to safety on the other side.

"There's a helicopter on the roof of the building next door." The voice in Batman's ear informed him.

"Where?" He rasped as he stood up and punched another thug who got in his way.

"Construction site. Western side of the bank."

Swat Teams were racing through the smoke in close pursuit of any thugs who took the same escape route as the Joker, coming up short at the edge of the urban precipice. The container had risen above them and could no longer serve as a springboard, so the cops dropped and began firing rounds across the gap. Suddenly a dark figure exploded out of the smoke behind them; flying across the abyss with outstretched wings and landing a floor down from the escapees in the other building. The cops immediately included him in their list of targets and continued firing.

Shooting a grappling hook through a gap in the ceiling to the floor above, Batman swung upwards. A thug turned to fire at him as he landed on his chest, smashing him to the floor. Suddenly, from above, bullets cracked off the girders beside the Caped Crusader's head.

The Joker glided upwards, riding the wrecking ball as it overtook the metal container, one hand on the chain while the other pointed the gun that was firing at Batman. So Batman ran to the other side of the construction site and started scaling the scaffolding, climbing fast. When he looked up, he saw a motorized gantry carrying one of the Thugs up to the roof, so he reached to his belt for the grappling gun and hung on to the scaffolding with one hand and one foot; swinging outwards so he could get a better angle as his cape caught in the wind and billowed out behind him.

"_I have a visual from the cameras on approaching police helicopters. ETA two minutes._" Said the voice in his ear.

The magnetic grapple hit it's target, metal fingers biting into the base of the rising gantry. Batman then toggled the gun into winch mode, let go of the scaffolding and was hoisted upwards at speed. The thug on the gantry looked over the edge and saw the rising shadow, climbed over the edge, grabbed the line in both hands, and drew back his boot in preparation for a blow to Batman's head.

When Batman saw him, he hit a button on the grip of the grappling gun, increasing the winch speed and shooting him higher and faster. He reached out and grabbed the Thug's foot, shoving him sharply upwards so his head cracked against the bottom of the gantry. Then he swung the unconscious man onto a hanging construction hook, leaving him dangling in mid-air by his belt before hoisting himself up and onto the gantry as another thug dropped down from the scaffolding above.

"_I have eyes in the sky_." Said the voice in his ear.

Batman punched the man square in the jaw as another thug dropped behind him and twisted a machine gun around his body from his back.

"_Behind you._"

Batman jerked his elbow back into the man's face, then spun and kicked his feet out from under him before bending over, grabbing his shirt and punching him in the face, "Where's the Joker?"

"_Getting into the helicopter_."

The chopper was already in the air by the time he got to the roof, his gaze following the rising chain hanging off the side of the building. He ran towards it as the voice in his ear said, "_You're not seriously going to _-"

He launched himself off the side of the building, arms outstretched and his body in free-fall for a split second before he slammed into the side of the container and scrambled to get a hold of the chain. The gloved hand on the container slipped, his legs swinging wildly in the air. Then he pulled on the chain, got a second hand to it, and swung a leg up so he could scramble onto the container and stand up. It swung beneath him like a circular pendulum as he glanced downwards. The forty storey fall wouldn't have hurt, but he suspected the landing might.

"_You're insane_." Said the voice in his ear.

He reached for the grappling gun again, reloading it with a snap of his wrist and aiming it at the wall of the bank. It fired, embedding a hook into the concrete, then he knelt down and detached the line from the gun so he could clip it to the container; making an anchor. Reloading, he did the same again, and then again; the chopper above him straining against the embedded they tried to figure out what was going on in the chopper, Batman snapped the grappling gun back into his belt and reached for a miniature acetylene torch – firing it up and aiming it at the chain. One side of a link melted, then the other, so he grabbed hold of the chain as the metal container disappeared from beneath his feet and the freed chopper jerked him violently upwards.

"_Totally insane_." Said the voice.

The metal container swung towards the bank and smashed through windows, sending a shower of glass onto the street below while Batman started hauling himself up the chain gloved-hand-over-gloved-hand.

_Below Wayne Manor – Same time:_

Vicki watched the monitor with wide, incredulous eyes. The pictures were blurry, grainy, shot in night-vision green with thermal imaging that made it easier to see Bruce as she climbed the chain. She wasn't kidding; the man was insane. Even before she'd come to Gotham she'd read newspaper reports on the exploits of Batman, but she'd always taken some of the descriptions of the things he did with a pinch of salt. Of all people, she knew the abilities other heroes in disguise had at their disposal. But she doubted even Bart who had his super-speed, Dinah who could create sonic sound waves, Arthur who could breathe underwater and Victor, who was half machine, would have taken the kind of risk Bruce was currently taking. The helicopter was now sixty stories high. If Bruce fell from that line...

She shook her head and let her gaze flicker around the other screens while the voices on the police radio tried to pick up the pieces after the other robberies and divert manpower to chasing down the Joker. She knew Bruce could do something with his cape to create what looked like outstretched wings, and he'd been known to drop from high buildings before, so he had to have a way of getting safely to the ground if worse came to worst. And part of her job had always entailed an element of adrenalin fuelled fear when it came to the risks members of the team took, so her momentary fear for his safety wasn't anything new. She had to stay focussed on what she was doing the same way she always did and let him do what he had to do to get the job done.

The side door on the Black Hawk slid open; the thermal imaging picking up a figure leaning out of the side - looking downwards...

"They know you're there. They'll try to shake you loose."

_Above Gotham – Same time:_

The nose of the chopper banked sharply upwards, then dropped as the pilot weaved it from side to side at the same time; the line below swinging Batman violently like a puppet on a string. He hung from the chain, trailing the chopper, a wing of shadowy quicksilver disappearing into the night as they approached Gotham's equivalent of Times Square.

With tall buildings, large crowds, the crawl of bumper-to-bumper traffic, it was glutted with neon signs and giant animated billboards. The chopper rounded a corner into view with Batman precariously hanging on as the city rushed past. People started looking up and pointing as his gloved hands slid down a couple of links on the chain. The chopper swung again – throwing him through one of the wooden billboards promoting a hit musical. He slid another couple of links down the chain. Then the chopper veered to the other side of the street, deliberately heading for another sign; this time a tremendous set of eight feet high jagged teeth, opening and closing in the mouth of a cartoon monster. At the last moment it banked, whipping the dangling Batman inside the mouth just as it closed. As the chopper pulled away, the chain pulled like floss through the closed teeth. Batman, somewhat miraculously still clutching the chain, flew towards the barricade of closed teeth, lifting his legs in front of him and smashing through them.

As the chopper veered again, Batman looked upwards at the runners. If he could just get a line to one of them. He looked down at his feet and the end of the chain, then twisted his body and swung his leg to wrap the chain around his ankle. When he looked ahead he saw another sign approaching; a giant neon sun with the WayneTech logo burning bright in yellows and reds over the message _Solar: The Power of the Future_. He hadn't got round to reading that report. And there would be a certain irony if his family name took Batman out...

The chopper blew straight through the nova, neon exploding like stars in all directions.

_Below Wayne Manor – Same Time._

"Watchtower to Knight."

Nothing.

Vicki looked at the monitor again, the chain still dangling below the chopper, but no sign of Bruce. Had he fallen when he went through the last sign? She searched through varying feeds from the security cameras around the city, flicking through them for one that might at the very least tell her which building it had been on.

"Watchtower to Knight." She looked to see if there were any other choppers in the vicinity with cameras she could tap into, her heart beating faster in her chest as she mumbled, "C'mon... c'mon... where are you?"

The police chopper was still following the Black Hawk, radio transmissions from the pilot relating it's location on the police band.

She tried again, "_Watchtower to Knight_."

Nothing.

_Above Gotham – Same time._

A tiny island in Gotham Harbor came into view. Lady Gotham – the huge statue that welcomed incoming ships - was shrouded in a giant cloak of tarpaulin in readiness for her unveiling at the celebrations. At the base of the statue, workmen were assembling a big wooden platform, complete with microphones, amplifiers and spotlights, and were raising a gigantic banner that read: "GOTHAM CITY - 300TH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION."

When the pilot evened out the chopper again, the Joker hung out of the door; looking down at the empty chain.

"Uh...boss..."

He looked at the plexiglass at the front of the chopper. It was covered in a black cape. So he drew his gun as the pilot looked over his shoulder; "No! You can't -"

He sprayed bullets wildly from right to left, blowing holes in the windshield. The pilot ducked his head, then cried out, and the chopper nose dived as the cape slipped free. Alarm bells sounded frantically in the cockpit as the Joker staggered towards the pilot's chair. He pushed him back from the control stick, shook him, put his hands back on the stick. But the man was barely conscious.

"Fly or die."

The man visibly grimaced as he tried to bring the chopper back under control. Satisfied, the Joker stepped back into the hold and opened the other door, where a fist came through the gap and connected with his jaw.

"Give it up." A rough voice loudly demanded. Batman was standing on one of the struts and climbing into the chopper.

The Joker lifted a hand to his jaw and moved it back and forth, "Ladies first."

He slammed his foot into Batman's hand. But Batman was already far enough inside for it not to make a difference.

"Well here we are again." The Joker swung for him.

Batman dodged the fist, swinging one boot in an arc at the Joker's feet as at the same time as he pushed him in the chest with both fists. It flipped him to the floor. Then Batman grabbed an ankle and dragged him half way out of the bird, leaning over him as he rasped; "You're done."

The Joker laughed as he hung over the edge, "Ever been to Arkham? You'd feel right at home. But it couldn't hold me. Guess you're just gonna have to kill me this time."

"I won't kill you. It's what separates me from people like you."

"You already took a year of my life. I'm due a little pay back. So go on, put me out of my misery," He rocked upwards, his arms hanging behind him, "There's only one way out of this. One of us dies. Just like your little boo. Did she flame grill or slow roast?"

Batman grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and waistcoat and yanked him further out of the chopper; the hold the only thing keeping the Joker from gravity's grasp. They'd been here before. Last time it had been a skyscraper, and Batman had saved his life.

"Batman doesn't kill?" The Joker laughed, "Course he does. You're a killer too. You just don't want to admit it. You see, Gotham's our playground. And sometimes kids get hurt playin' the game. Sometimes..."

The shouted words carried over the noise of the rotors, but Batman still hauled the Joker closer. Lifting him and leaning in at the same time, until they were practically nose-to-nose.

"...they're just too close to the field of play..."

Batman's jaw was tight below the cowl, the words were having the desired effect. Then suddenly the chopper lurched to the side. It was all the distraction the Joker needed. When Batman jerked backwards with the motion, he took the Joker with him; closer to safety. The Joker thanked him by smashing a fist in his face as the chopper lurched again. The pilot was losing consciousness. Batman was slammed off a wall. He fought back. Then another violent lurch to the side slid the Joker's gun across the floor – and into his hand – just as Batman had hold of him again. There was a click as the end of the barrel was shoved against his ribcage, between panels of the suit. The Joker smiled, then his expression changed in a heartbeat. Last time he'd said he couldn't kill Batman. _'Kill you? I don't want to kill you. What would I do without you? You. Complete. Me.'_ This time, with their faces close again, his voice was rough and laced with vengeance,

"All's fair in love and war." He pulled the trigger.

Eyes wide, Bruce Wayne heard the sound of the gun going off. His vision went dark, but he could see pearls hitting a pavement and scattering. Then he was falling into darkness, into a cave, and there were bats – hundreds of dark frantically fluttering wings and voices; one that said '_You're a killer too_.' Another that said '_Why do we fall Master Wayne?_' And a woman's voice yelling; '_No_!'

He hit the water hard.

_Below Wayne Manor – Same Time._

"No!"

Vicki watched the dim thermal outline of a body fall from the chopper and hit the water. Something had happened between him hitting the last sign and getting into the Black Hawk. A fault in the com. She could hear him, but he couldn't hear her, so he didn't answer her call. She'd heard it all, but she hadn't been able to help. Instead she'd been the eyes and ears of a spectator. Something she hadn't been in a long, long time. And the sense of helplessness as it played out reminded her why she didn't want to be a spectator. Why she _couldn't_ stand on the sidelines. Leaving the feeds running, she pushed back her chair, grabbed a small box from the desk, and starting running. She pushed the elevator button numerous times on the way up in the hope it might make it move faster. And then she was running through the house.

"Alfred? Alfred! Where are you?"

He met her in the hall, "Here, Miss."

"Bruce is down. We have to get to him. Fast."

Alfred remained calm, "Where is he?"

"Gotham harbor. He's in the water." She turned when Alfred took her elbow and guided her down the hallway, "He shot him, Alfred. The Joker shot him. How good is the suits resistance up close?"

"I'll drive."

"The police chopper saw it happen. They'll put boats in the water."

"Then we'll have to find him first, won't we Miss?"

She held up the small box, "This will help."

Alfred looked down at it as he grabbed a long overcoat from a peg beside the door to the garage, his brows rising in question.

Vicki smiled tremulously, "I was mad at him for tagging me. So I tagged him back with his own device."

"And the tracker?"

"That's his too. Guess he left me alone in the cave for too long, didn't he?"

_Gotham Harbor – Late night._

A familiar cowl broke the surface. Gasping for breath, Batman gritted his teeth against the excruciating pain as he stared up at the sky and fought a combination of violent nausea and the edge of unconsciousness that put stars around the periphery of his vision. In the distance the chopper was lurching from side to side as it got closer to the island where Lady Gotham stood. But there was nothing he could do about it. He had to live before he could fight again.

A quick look around him gave him an idea of how close he was to land. If the chopper hadn't dropped lower to the water, he wouldn't have survived the fall. As it was he was pretty sure the impact had dislocated his shoulder. And he could feel the warmth of his own blood seeping out of his body; the cold water hopefully slowing his circulation. Turning, he ground his teeth together and kicked out with his legs, thankful for the lack of dragging weight his cape would have created in the water as he used his good arm and dragged the useless one beneath him. He just needed to get to land. If he could get underneath the bridge and stay conscious, he could try the com. If the water hadn't got to it. And if the impact hadn't damaged it.

Alfred parked the Rolls in the shadows and searched the shoreline with Vicki, "Still nothing?"

She checked the tracker again, "What if the tag shook loose when he hit the water?"

"The hand held tracker was designed for short range. We'd have to be very close to the area he's in. The one in the Tumbler is long range."

"Don't s'pose the Tumbler will come to us?" Vicki smiled weakly in the dim light.

"Not unless it's told to; no. If Batman doesn't return to it within a set period of time, it's pre-programmed to go to a certain destination."

"And if it doesn't make it there?"

"It'll self-destruct like the last one did."

Hitting the side of the tracker against her palm as if batteries were the problem, Vicki dropped her arm to her side and looked around them. Search lights were already skimming the water around Lady Gotham, the police radio in the Rolls on the way over informing them the Black Hawk had managed to set down on the island before the Joker terrorized the workmen setting up for the city's 300th celebrations and stole a boat to make his getaway. The police were still hunting for him, the man who had fallen into the water further down their list of priorities. It was the one thing working in their favour. But if Bruce hadn't made it out of the water...

They'd already searched a good portion of the shoreline. And he had to be losing blood. Vicki fought the chill that ran down her spine.

"I suggest we split up again, Miss."

"I'll head for the bridge."

In an ideal situation they would have brought flash-lights with them, but the police would have seen them searching, and there was nothing remotely ideal about looking for an injured man whose survival could depend on them finding him before he bled to death. Whose secret identity relied on them finding him before anyone else. Vicki tried to remain calm, but she could practically hear the sand running through the checked every dark shape by the waterline, every floating piece of driftwood, she climbed over what was left of an old wooden pier. What if they didn't get to him in time? The thought of him lying somewhere, alone and -

When the tracker in her hand bleeped, her breath caught, and she turned a circle to try and get a fix. She took a step forwards, then another, the bleeping got stronger, she picked up the pace. Then she saw something on the ground beside a bridge support. So she started to run.

"Alfred, over here!"

He was lying on his stomach, one arm above his head as if he'd been reaching for something, his head turned to the side. He was so very still. Vicki's set her hand on his back and knelt down on the wet sand beside him, "Bruce? Bruce it's Vicki."

He didn't move.

Then Alfred was there, "Let's get you turned over then."

Vicki pushed him towards Alfred as Alfred set his hands under Bruce's shoulders for leverage. When he rolled over his arm, he let out a low groan, and Vicki could have sobbed with relief, "He's alive."

"Not the first knock he's taken, Miss. I doubt it'll be the last." Alfred dug in the pocket of his long overcoat and produced a small pen torch, lifting Bruce's eyelids and checking each of them in turn before shining it over his torso. The ribbed portion of the suit was covered in a mixture of blood and sand, "Right then. Let's get you home."

"We'll have to carry him." Vicki's mind searched frantically for the best way to do that. Alfred was hardly infirm, and despite her size she was no weakling. But could they get Bruce to the car? They were going to have to.

"He'll help." Alfred dug in his pocket again, producing what looked like a tube of lipstick and uncapping it before setting a hand under Bruce's head and lifting it. He held the tube under the sharp nose of the cowl, "Wakey, wakey..."

Bruce's body jerked. Smelling salts? When his eyes blinked open, they rolled back in his head, then he groaned again and croaked; "Alfred?"

"Right bloody mess you've got yourself into this time." He nodded at Vicki, "Grab an arm. Up we get, Master Bruce."

When Vicki grabbed hold of his arm, Bruce groaned in pain and the way his arm moved told her why. It was loose. Too loose, "I think his shoulder is dislocated."

"Change sides." He lifted the arm to check it and got another groan from Bruce, "We can't fix it here. He might pass out again and we need his help. I'll pop it back in at the car."

Vicki cringed, her hand briefly squeezing Bruce's glove before she worked with Alfred to get him to his feet. Bruce wasn't much help, but the effort he made was needed. And once he was upright, Alfred put an arm around his waist to take the bulk of his weight, while Vicki ducked underneath his good arm and rested it across her shoulders; holding onto his hand while she wrapped her arm below Alfred's.

"One step at a time. Here we go. I was there when you took your first steps, so I know you can do this."

Moisture welled up in her eyes at Alfred's calm tone and the long history behind the words. He'd been with Bruce since he took his first steps? That meant he'd been with him when his parents died. That he'd stood by him through everything, maybe even watched over his legacy when Bruce had disappeared for those missing seven years.

The walk up the beach wasn't far, a few hundred metres at most. But it felt like miles; their progress slow as Bruce laboriously placed one foot in front of the other, with the odd stumble that elicited low groans or sharp intakes of breath and calm words of encouragement from Alfred.

"Almost there, sir."

Vicki swallowed hard to loosen the tightness in her throat. Alfred might have used the formal words of a traditional English butler, but they sounded like terms of affection to Vicki's ears. Bruce was like a son to him, wasn't he? Alfred was Bruce's family.

Digging in his magic pocket again, Alfred found the keys to the car and opened the door, working with Vicki to turn Bruce around and fold him backwards onto the rear seats. When his upper body was in, knees bent and feet flat on the ground, Vicki kept an eye on him while Alfred walked round to the other side and climbed in. Her gaze flickered upwards from Bruce's eyes to Alfred's face.

"I'll not pretend this isn't going to hurt like a bugger." Alfred informed him, "Grit your teeth."

Bruce seemed to clear his throat, then he rasped a low, "Do it."

Reaching for the hand on the end of his good arm again, Vicki threaded her fingers through Bruce's and bit down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling while she leaned inside and laid her other hand flat against his chest to keep him still. She looked up at Alfred and nodded. He set his hands in place on Bruce's arms and a sudden move and a sickening crunch of bone, Alfred popped the shoulder back into place. Bruce's body jerked upwards, a muffled cry escaping tight lips.

"There we go." Alfred nodded with satisfaction, "And you didn't pass out. Good for you. You should feel better now."

"I... got..." Bruce gasped for breath, "_shot_... Alfred..."

"One problem at a time. And it's not like it's the first time _that's_ happened, is it? Over you come."

He hauled Bruce further into the car with two jerks, then closed the door while Vicki climbed in behind him and pulled down the folding seat subtly disguised in the back of the front passenger seat. Once the car was moving, Bruce lifted a hand to the cowl.

"I'll do it." She frowned down at him when his fingers clamped around her wrist in the air above his face, "It's not like I don't know who you are."

"Charged."

The word was said so low and rough she had to lean closer, "What?"

Alfred looked over his shoulder, "He has a small electric charge attached to the neck of the cowl. Makes people think twice about taking it off to see his face."

"Clever," Vicki acknowledged before asking, "How do I turn it off?"

Gloved fingers moved against her wrist as he lowered his arm, "Your side. Between neck. And shoulder blade."

It was obvious every word was taking considerable effort, so Vicki ran her fingertips over the contours of the suit in the line where his shoulder blade was, feeling for some kind of button or small switch or -

"Got it." It was a tiny wire.

When she'd pulled the connection apart she set about removing the cowl and gently setting his head back down. Thick lashes flickered as his gaze moved to tangle with hers. She smiled at him, "You really are insane, y'know."

The corners of his mouth twitched as his eyelids grew heavy.

"Stay with me," She waited for him to look up at her again, before looking down at the blood seeping from his suit, "Alfred, I need something to pack this wound. He's losing a lot of blood. We need a doctor."

"There's a first aid kit under my seat, Miss. Once we get him back to the manor, we can see what we're dealing with. Then we'll know if we can handle it or if we need a plausible story for the family doctor. Depends if the bullet's still in him or if it went straight through."

After locating the first aid kit, Vicki ripped open several packages of dressing, piled them up, then set them over the hole in the suit. When she laid her palm over them and added pressure, Bruce grimaced.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." His eyelids grew heavy again.

"You gotta stay awake."

"I know."

She glanced out the darkened window to see where they were, "Not long now. Hang on. Just stay awake."

"Joker."

Vicki's gaze sought his again, "He got away. I left all the feeds recording, so we should be able to go through everything tomorrow to see how he did it."

He managed a small nod, so Vicki smiled at him again before lifting the dressings to see how much blood had seeped into them. Too much. She pressed them down again. When she looked back at his face, his eyes were closed.

"Stay with me." When he didn't respond she touched his cheek, "Bruce?"

She glanced down at his chest, but she couldn't see him breathing because of the rigid material of the suit. So she leaned closer, turning her head until she could feel the whisper of exhaled breath against her cheek. It was shallow. But he was stronger than her head again, she looked down at his face. Tendrils of wet hair curled against his forehand, and the muted interior light of the luxurious car highlighted the contrast of dark brows and thick lashes against pale skin. He could have died beneath that bridge. And he had to be in incredible pain. A lesser man wouldn't have survived what he'd been through, never mind staying conscious for as long as he had. She smoothed the tips of her fingers over cold, clammy skin to brush the hair off his forehead, and his eyes flickered open her face so close to his, she could see the effort it took to blink her into focus. His gaze searched her eyes for a moment. He blinked. She felt his breath against her lips. His gaze lowered to her mouth and she wondered if he remembered the pretend kiss the way she did. Then he took a deeper, slightly shuddering breath, and it looked like he was closing his eyes again.

"_Stay with me_." She said the words softly.

When his gaze tangled with hers again, Vicki felt something shift inside her chest. It wasn't uncomfortable, if anything it felt better where it had shifted to. As if it had been in the wrong place before, or something had clicked into place. A less painful version of Bruce's shoulder popped back into it's socket. It took a moment for her to realize the car had stopped, and by the time she did, Alfred was opening the door,

"Let's get you inside then, so we can see how big a mess you've made."

The journey from the garage to a small hidden elevator in the kitchen took less time than it had taken to get from the shoreline to the car. The elevator had been installed when the house was rebuilt, Alfred explained. For situations exactly like this, he added. Apparently Bruce was '_too bloody heavy_' for Alfred to get him up the staircase on his own. When the doors slid open, Vicki was surprised to find them facing Bruce's bedroom. She would never have guessed there was a door behind the wooden panelling, let alone an elevator. It made her wonder how many other hidden doors and passages there were that she'd missed in her brief time Bruce was propped against layers of cushions on the large bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, Alfred starting removing the suit while Vicki went back downstairs for medical supplies from the kitchen. By the time she got back, Alfred had him covered in a blanket to his waist and was cleaning around the wound with a wet towel. His tight expression said it all.

"Keep pressure on the wound. When the blood soaks through, change the dressing and put pressure on it again."

Vicki ripped open dressing, "Is the bullet still in there?"

"It's gone through. That's something. But there's no way of knowing how much damage it did along the way. And he's lost a lot of blood. He might need a hospital this time."

Bruce stirred, "No."

Alfred's tone changed for the first time since Vicki had told him Bruce was down, "You'll do what you're told. This isn't something you can stitch up in your usual haphazard fashion."

Tossing the towel to one side, he held out his hand for the dressings, and Vicki had her first glimpse of the powder burned hole oozing deep red blood from between Bruce's ribs. The bullet may have shattered bones, it could have nicked an internal organ, there might be as much blood inside as there was seeping into the dressing.

"I'll take care of him, Alfred."

"I'll call the doctor. We'll say he was cleaning a handgun. He has a licence for one of those if I remember correctly." He stood up and let her sit down on the edge of the bed where he'd been, not removing his hand from the dressing until her smaller one was there to replace it, "I won't be long."

Blood was already dampening her fingertips by the time Alfred left the room. She looked down at it, then up as Bruce opened his eyes.

"No hospital."

Shaking her head, Vicki's gaze shifting to the dressing then back up. She stared into his dark eyes, damped her lips, then took a breath and spoke in a low voice, "You won't need one."

He closed his eyes.

"Bruce. I need you to look at me."

When his eyes opened again, she took another breath, "I can fix this."

Removing the dressing, she set it to the side and studied the wound for a second. If he was messed up inside then it was going to take considerably more effort than she'd used in a while. She knew what that meant. But she really didn't have a choice. He was bleeding to death. So while her heart beat erratically, she lifted her hand and held it over the wound, uncurling her fingers from her palm as she looked up into his eyes again, "I need you to stay still. No matter what you see or feel."

"Why?"

Vicki managed a smile, "Because trust is a two way street. And one of us has to make the first move."

Lowering her chin, she focussed her attention on the hand that shook a little before she set it on his skin. She gritted her teeth, frowned in concentration, and felt the warmth building inside her. It expanded like a balloon filling with air while she breathed deep and willed it to grow. Then she mentally pictured it rising through her body, into her chest, over her shoulder, down her arm, past her elbow, into her wrist...

Light glowed beneath her palm. She could feel the exchange, her energy flowing into him as his pain became hers. God, it hurt! It had been such a very long time since she'd hurt so bad. How had he stayed conscious? Her ribs began to ache, a finger of white hot heat blazing a trail through her body from front to back, the way a bullet would. But there was more to it than that. As the light increased in intensity and sparkled between her fingers like stardust, her heart began to ache. She felt a sob building in her cramped chest; tears stinging at the back of her eyes. Pain of a different kind. When she closed her eyes for a brief second she could see small white marbles scattering as if they'd been dropped onto concrete...

Eyes snapping open, her gaze sought his as he lifted his chin and frowned at her. She hated that look. He didn't understand. How could he when he was sceptical of PSI to begin with? And it wasn't as if what she could do had ever been documented before. The colour had returned to his skin. He was more alert. But before the pain got too much for her, she had to do something about the torn muscles in his shoulder. So she lifted her other hand and grasped it; flinching at his grimace and silently apologizing before she gathered more energy and fixed the damage. She was violently nauseous when she rocked back and folded her fingers into her palms, her lips parted as she dragged in shallow breaths of air and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

Bruce had stopped frowning. He sat up, rolling his shoulder as he spread his fingers around the area where the wound used to be. Then he looked into her eyes, "What did you do?"

Vicki smiled weakly, "I healed you."

"How?"

"There's not a short answer to that."

"You're metahuman." He made it a statement of fact rather than a question.

Vicki nodded in reply, her vision blurring as she fought the pain that was practically slicing her in two. He'd been more seriously injured than they'd realized. The impact of hitting the water had bruised bones and given him a concussion. He'd had whiplash in his neck. When she removed the cowl it must have hurt like hell. He'd hid it well. Maybe he'd been more aware of the obvious injuries.

"That's why Luthor wants you."

"Again, not a short answer." Damping dry lips with the tip of her tongue, she summoned the energy to get to her feet. She knew how this worked. She needed to lie down and sleep it off, "You need to rest for a while. It's pretty instant, but you'll help things along if you don't suit up and go straight back out."

She'd made it to the foot of his bed when he stopped her; "Vicki."

"Yes?" The room swayed around her.

"I don't know what you did... but -"

She smiled, "You're welcome."

Focussing hard on her destination, she forced one heavy foot in front of the other while she fought the need to curl into a foetal position and moan. She just needed to lie down and rest. Her room wasn't far away. If she could just-

"What's wrong?" His voice sounded closer.

Then the world went dark.


	8. Chapter 8

A HUGE thank you once again for all your comments and APOLOGIES for how long it has taken me to update here. For a little while seemed to HATE my docs and didn't want to upload them. On the plus side, it does mean I'm a few chapters ahead, so if I don't post more regularly fell free to prod me with a large cyber-stick ;)

**Chapter Eight.**

_Wayne Manor – Late Night/Early Morning_.

Bruce caught her before she hit the floor.

Scooping her small frame into his arms took very little effort, despite the fact she was literally dead weight. Her head rolled towards his shoulder, cool cheek against his warm skin, while Bruce frowned down at her pale face. What happened? Why had she passed out? Was it something to do with whatever she'd done? The miracle that rescued him from a sea of pain and exhaustion. One he hadn't experienced since searching for a small blue flower in the mountains of Bhutan. Someone had rescued him then too. But it had been an anonymous someone. And back then he hadn't had as much mental control over his pain threshold...

What had she done? How had she done it? While looking down at her, he couldn't help but add '_At what cost?_' to the long list of questions he had.

"The Doctor is out on call at -" Alfred's words faded away as he walked into the room and found a recovered Bruce holding an unconscious Vicki. It was the first time Bruce could ever remember him at a loss for words.

"She passed out." He stated the obvious as he turned and took her back to the bed, waiting for Alfred to step over and pull back the covers on the side where the sheets weren't stained with blood.

"That's not the only thing that happened while I was gone," Alfred replied as Bruce carefully laid her down, "I missed some kind of divine intervention, did I?"

"In a manner of speaking," Removing her shoes, he set them on the floor beside the bed, then pulled the covers over her while Alfred checked her pulse and took a small torch from his pocket to check her pupil reaction, "Well?"

Bruce clenched his jaw as he waited for a reply. The thought that her condition was a result of what she'd done to him causing a wave of something akin to fear. He didn't want anyone to make sacrifices for his actions. The fact Alfred did, and Rachel had, was already too much.

"Unconscious but reactive. Her pulse is regular. Little on the slow side maybe," He gently set the back of his hand on her forehead, "Body temperature is low but she's not shivering."

When he nodded at the extra layer of comforter folded across the foot of the bed, Bruce moved to draw it over her while Alfred looked down at her again, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was sleeping."

Bruce took a deep breath and allowed some of the tension roll from his body, "I need to talk to Queen. Stay with her. Let me know if there's any change in her condition."

Turning, he stopped long enough to grab a light sweater from a dresser drawer, hauling it over his head as he left the room. He was at the door when Alfred's voice sounded again, "Care to tell me what happened while I was gone? Because unless I'm mistaken, you were in trouble when I left."

"I don't know what happened," Bruce glanced over at Vicki, "Yet."

A sense of urgency carried him down the panelled hallway and wide stairway at a jog. In the library, he moved the necessary book, keyed in the code, pulled the hidden doorway open, and stepped into the elevator. Once in the cave, he moved swiftly across to where the feeds were still recording; glancing up at the monitors more out of habit than the need to see what was happening in the city. It had been a long time since he'd done that. Especially since his first introduction to the Joker.

Queen answered on his third attempt at contacting him. By which time he'd gone through the pile of folders Vicki had left out, in search of the ability she'd demonstrated. Nothing. So he'd tried some internet research on healing abilities and was wading his way through sites on Faith Healers when Queen deigned to pick up.

"Your special friend just performed a miracle," Bruce informed him without a greeting, and based on the assumption it was what Queen had meant when he'd called her '_special_', "Now she's unconscious. Care to tell me why?"

Judging by the background noise he was moving out of a crowd, his voice lowering, presumably so he wasn't overheard, "What happened?"

"I was injured."

"How bad?"

"Shot. Fell out of a helicopter." He said it in a matter-of-fact tone. As if it was something that happened every day, to everyone. But it wasn't like he was having a conversation with someone who wouldn't understand, was it? If Bruce didn't have more pressing concerns, he might have taken a moment to reflect on how new that was for him.

The background noise faded, but Queen's voice remained low, "How close to death were you?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Because how badly you were injured is relative to how long she'll remain unconscious. Put it this way: If you were dead when she did her thing, she wouldn't have a pulse right now."

Under normal circumstances, Bruce would have argued the _many _logical reasons why it was impossible to bring someone back from the dead without the aid of medical science. But considering the little he'd learned of late, and his all-too-recent first hand experience, "How does it work?"

Oliver made a sound resembling a short burst of laughter, "Like I know. There's only one person who can answer that. And from what I can tell - she'll struggle to give a definitive answer. Considers herself a work in progress. Last time she died, she was dead for a little over twenty-four hours. If your injuries were less life threatening, she'll sleep a proportionate amount of time and wake up when her body has recovered. And for the record - she'll eat like a horse when she does..."

Ignoring what almost sounded like a note of affection in the man's voice, Bruce focussed on the part he'd liked least. _The last time she died_. He frowned at the innuendo. It had been said as if it was a common occurrence, "And just how often is she asked to die to bring a member of your team back from the dead?"

There was a moment of silence after the tersely worded question. But Bruce didn't give a damn if it sounded like he wasn't happy they used what she could do that way. If she didn't know the mechanics of what she could do, then asking her to continue doing it -

Queen replied in an equally terse tone, "No-one ever asks her to do what she does. You don't know her. Personally I don't approve of her doing it. Especially when it comes at so high a price."

"_Which is_?"

There was another moment of silence, "I can't go into too much detail where I am right now. Suffice to say, whatever you felt? She took it during the exchange. If you cracked a bone, she would feel the same pain in the same place. If you got shot-"

Bruce clenched his teeth together so hard his jaw ached, his answer spoken through tight lips, "She has the same injuries."

"If she's not bleeding, then no. But like I said, I don't really know how -"

Abruptly ending the call, he phoned the extension in his room, "Alfred, check for injuries. Specifically where mine were."

Pushing to his feet, he gathered together the pile of files pertaining to meta-humans while he waited for a reply; the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder so he could use both hands.

"There aren't any."

Bruce exhaled, "Then apparently she has to sleep it off."

"Whatever 'it' is..."

"I'm coming back up. Light a fire."

When he came back into the room with the pile of folders, Alfred had a fire crackling in the large fireplace on the other side of the large room; low lighting from various table lamps Bruce rarely used giving the room a feeling of intimacy at odds with it's size.

"Thanks, Alfred." He set the files down on a low table, feeling a modicum of guilt the way he always did when he barked orders at Alfred during the times his mind was focussed on other things. The older man put up with a lot. Bruce was more than aware of that, "I'll stay with her. You should get some sleep. According to Queen when she wakes up she'll have quite an appetite..."

"I'll prepare a large breakfast."

Bruce thought about the '_sleep a proportionate amount_' statement Queen had made, "Might want to make it supper. I get the impression she'll be out for a while."

He nodded, "And I changed the sheets around her. Can't have her rolling around in your mess."

There was probably a metaphor in there if Bruce chose to look at it more closely, but instead he looked at the questions in Alfred's eyes as he stepped in front of him, "I still don't know what she did, so don't ask."

"She healed you. Doesn't take a Brain Surgeon to work that out," He looked down at Vicki, silently inviting Bruce to do the same thing as he added in a softer voice, "Makes sense."

Bruce looked at his familiar profile, his brows lifting in question.

"They say miracles happen every day."

"Unless I'm mistaken, reports of the 'laying on of hands' are restricted to a particular portion of history."

"Shouldn't let cynicism blind you, Master Bruce. If there isn't light in the world, then why are you fighting the darkness?"

Bruce was about to answer he was more a part of the darkness than anything else. Fear to fight fear, as Alfred well knew. But then Alfred leaned a little closer to add; "If you ask me - she's been performing minor miracles ever since she got here..."

The statement drew Bruce's gaze back to the still form of Vicki, her delicate features as pale as the pillow her head rested on, her expression reassuringly peaceful. It didn't matter what he learned about her, or how many of the things he learned beggared belief. She was still a mystery to him. Vicki Vale, reporter. Vicki Vale, co-ordinator of the Justice League. Vicki Vale, worker of miracles. They were all separate identities unto themselves. In one case the person who revealed secrets, in another someone who kept secrets for others and in yet another a person with secrets of her own - secrets that went beyond the ability she possessed to heal; giving of herself, maybe even to those she didn't know.

Alfred silently left the room, leaving Bruce standing by the bed.

When his gaze focussed on a lock of golden hair lying against her cheek, he curled his fingers into his palms and pushed his hands into the pockets of the jeans he'd changed back in to when he was in the cave. He remembered the sensation of her small, fine boned hand on his skin. The warmth of her touch and how that warmth grew and tingled across his nerve endings as she healed him. The same warmth that had seeped inside his body, spreading outwards and upwards until it seemed to wrap around his heart; as if she held it cradled in her palm. He'd felt more alive in that moment than he ever had, even when adrenalin was rushing through his veins and he was completely focussed on what he was doing. But what was even more astonishing, was he'd felt at peace while she did it. Something he couldn't remember _ever _feeling. It was as if the things he did as Batman had become more of a drug of necessity, whereas the way she'd made him feel had been something he'd needed for himself but refused to admit. Did she do that with everyone she touched? Was her power to heal more than the superficial?

Bruce thought about the things Queen had said. About how she took on the injuries of the person she was healing. She gave of herself, freely, willingly, regardless of the personal cost. If that wasn't heroic then Bruce didn't know what was. No wonder she was so at home with the Justice League and that they were so protective of her. She didn't need a cape or a cowl or a hood to do what she did. She had a different kind of secret identity, yet in some ways it was exactly the same. But if she took someone's pain as she healed them, and if she possessed the ability to touch the mythical element of a human being know as the soul as she did it; giving of herself in the process, feeling how they felt in return...

He thought about the woman he'd watched running across a Gotham street on a sunny day, thriving in the light, lit with an almost ethereal glow. Comparing that woman to the one lying in his bed, with pale skin and dark circles under her eyes, Bruce decided it would never happen again. He wouldn't be held responsible for taking that from her.

It was the last time she would touch him.

But neither would he let Luthor get within three feet of her. He wouldn't have allowed anything to happen to her when she was under his protection, but now that she'd saved his life, it changed things. It was personal. Not that he would go as far as they did in some cultures, where the life saved was considered to belong to the person who had saved it until the debt was repaid - but it wasn't far from it. Now that he knew what she could do, had a vague idea of how she did it and had considered the repercussions, the thought of her being forced to touch the soul of a man who had been convicted of crimes against humanity...

Bruce had read the newspaper reports of the trial. When he got an opportunity he would look at the trial transcripts in more depth. But he knew enough. To get to Vicki Vale, or whoever it was she used to be, Lex Luthor would have to come through him. It was as simple as that. And she wasn't going anywhere until Bruce knew the man was behind bars again. This time in a facility where he couldn't break free. Once that happened, Bruce would set her free.

A life for a life.

_Wayne Manor – Mid-Morning._

He eventually succumbed to sleep. In the same chair he'd slept in the last time she'd occupied his bed. This time surrounded by the many files he'd read from cover to cover, with the last one sliding from his denim clad lap as his eyelids flickered and the dreams came.

A gunshot. Bruce flinched as his father looked down at his bleeding chest, then back to the man in front of him. Thomas crumpled, Bruce's mother screamed. The man reached for her pearls, but she cried desperately for her husband.

'_Thomas?! Thomas!_'

The man shot her, then yanked at her necklace – the necklace her husband had given her as a token of love. It broke, spilling pearls over the asphalt. Then, looking through the eyes of the young boy, Bruce was staring into a room where two coffins were laid side-by-side. Thomas and Martha Wayne. His parents. They didn't look the same in the open caskets as the lids were closed for the last time after everyone had paid their respects. Dead leaves whipped through the hallway, snow fell over two open graves, mourners dispersed, guided by Security Guards. Alfred was standing beside him. The mourners filed towards the gates. Rachel was walking with her mother, she looked up at Bruce's high window, saw him watching her. She waved.

"Rachel..." His chest began to ache.

The young Bruce paused for a moment, unsure, then he returned the wave as another voice sounded in the distance; '_You're a killer. Just like me._'

Then he heard Rachel's voice, '_You're not talking about justice, you're talking about revenge._'

'_Sometimes they're the same._' Bruce answered.

'_They're never the same, Bruce. Justice is about harmony... revenge is about you making yourself feel better._'

Suddenly she was staring at Batman in the intimate space of the Tumbler. Her eyes were glaring, her breathing was shallow. Batman's voice was low and quiet, '_Stay with me._'

Another voice, equally as low, but softer and more feminine, echoed the words, '_Stay with me._'

Rachel's eyes flickered open, her breathing faster, shallower. Batman's voice urging her, '_Hold on. Just hold on._'

Then there was Vicki's face as she glanced out of the darkened window to see where they were, '_Not long now. Hang on._.'

But Rachel's eyes were closing...

"Rachel?" The ache in his chest began to make it difficult to breathe.

Her soft voice sounded in his ears, '_Between Batman and Bruce Wayne, there's no room for me._'

'..._you'll have to __choose_.' Said another voice, '_He's at 250, 52nd Boulevard. And she's..._'

Where? Where was she?! He had to get to her! He had to save her!

Then Rachel's voice, '..._don't make me your one hope for a normal life_...'

'_Did she flame grill or slow roast?_'

'_She was going to wait for me._' Bruce heard his own voice as the aching pain in his chest began to consume him the way it always did, '_Dent doesn't know. He can __never__ know_...'

In the distance the sound of children's laughter. It came temptingly closer as sunlight flickered through the darkness, through trees as they ran through a summer garden. A boy. Chasing a girl.

'_If there isn't light in the world, then why are you fighting the darkness?_'

The boy reached a Victorian Greenhouse. He stood in the doorway catching his breath, then peered down rows of plants on long trestle tables. Where was she?

"Rachel..."

No response. Sunlight streamed through wrought iron and glass. The young boy advanced cautiously into the Greenhouse. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and pulled under a table by the young girl. She put her hand over his mouth as another voice sounded. A woman.

'_Rachel?! Master Bruce?!_' She walked past the windows.

The boy asked the girl, '_What're you doing?!_'

'_Kidnapping you._' She said, '_They'll pay a lot for precious Brucie._'

When he stared at her, wide-eyed, she smiled and he relaxed. Then he bolted out from under the trestle table – sprinting for the back door as she tore out after him. In the disused kitchen garden of the Manor, he crouched in the mouth of a disused well, peering over the stone wall at she searched for him.

'_Bruce, I can see you._'

He suppressed a giggle when the boards beneath him gave way and he plummeted downwards into the darkness...

'..._sometimes kids get hurt playin' the game. Sometimes_...' The shouted words carried over the noise of spinning helicopter rotors, '..._they're just too close to the playing field_...'

Another shot. The young boy continued tumbling into the darkness as Batman fell from the sky. Batman hit the water as the boy landed painfully on the rubble strewn at the bottom of the shaft.

'_Bruce?!_' The girl called from above.

'_Watchtower to Knight_.'

The young boy lifted his head from the damp dirt and rocks, groaning. Batman broke the surface of the cold water, gasping in air and fighting the pain.

'..._don't make me your one hope for a normal life_...' said Rachel's voice.

Then another voice: '..._one of us has to make the first move_...'

The boy froze. He could hear something. He peered into the darkness of an opening between rocks...

'_Bruce. I need you to look at me_.' The woman's soft voice said, mesmerizing him and bringing a momentarily sense of calm, '_I can fix this._'

'..._you'll have to __choose_.' Bruce stirred restlessly again.

Then there was another man's voice; '..._he'll come for her. He won't care how many bodies he leaves behind in the process. He'll tear this place down brick by brick to get to her._'

"No." Bruce grew increasingly restless.

'..._she's been performing minor miracles ever since she got here.'_

'..._don't make me your one hope_...'

'_And why do we fall, Master Bruce?_' Asked Alfred.

'..._he'll come for her_...'

Another voice; '_No! Not me! Why did you come for me?! Rachel!_'

"Rachel..." Where was she? No. This wasn't right. The Joker had said -

She wasn't there, just her voice; '_Harvey? Harvey, it's okay_...'

'..._one of us has to make the first move_...'

'..._don't make me your one hope_...'

'_Stay with me._'

'..._one hope_...'

'_I can fix this_.'

Bats exploded from the darkness, filling the air as the young boy screamed and curled into a ball against the flapping, squawking, fluttering blackness.

'_She was going to wait for me_.'

'_You're a killer._'

Alfred reached up to the curtains, _'Why do we fall, Master Bruce?'_

The young boy didn't answer.

'_So we might better learn to pick ourselves up._' Alfred answered.

'_Stay with me... I can fix this..._' She was looking at him with large, luminous, pain filled eyes. His pain. She'd taken it from him and made it her own.

'_Between Batman and Bruce Wayne, there's no room_...'

Alfred smiled gently. He pulled the curtains shut. In the darkness, the frantic beating of hundreds of dark wings surrounded him.

Bruce jerked awake, trying to blink away the images as Alfred drew the curtains apart and welcomed warm sunlight into the room, "I prepared a substantial brunch. You can both come down when you're ready."

His gaze shifted sharply towards the bed, where luminous green eyes were staring at him. She smiled, almost nervously, while Bruce stared back at her. How long had she been awake?

Alfred picked up the remnants of the carelessly-tossed suit from the floor; ripped, dented and punctured, "Never did take care of your equipment, did you?"

"If I did, you wouldn't have anything to complain about." Bruce replied while continuing to stare at Vicki.

Alfred walked between them as he left the room, "Oh, I'm quite sure I'd find something."

Vicki continued looking at Bruce as she listened to the interaction, unable to drag her gaze away from him. Waking up in his bed for the second time had been disconcerting enough. Discovering him asleep in a nearby chair had been unsettling, but at the same time brought a warmth to her chest and a soft smile to her face. Apart from the boyish way his hair fell across his forehead and how much younger he looked, it confirmed the claim he'd done it before. But then he'd got restless, his expression had changed, he'd started mumbling in his sleep... calling a name...

Scrambling for something to say when she was fairly certain he wouldn't appreciate being told what she'd heard, she wriggled into a sitting position and leaned back into the deep pillows; lifting her hands to brush her hair from her cheeks, "How long was I asleep?"

Bruce glanced at his wristwatch, "Thirty-three hours. Give or take."

"O-okay," Breathing deep, she avoided the questions in his eyes, "Been a while since I've done that. What did I miss?"

"Apart from the fact the Joker made a point of burning ten million and one dollars in front of the Mayor's office? Not much."

"Did you get anything from the feeds?"

"Haven't been through them yet." Avoiding her gaze, he glanced downwards.

Vicki blinked in astonishment. He hadn't been through them in thirty-three hours? Why wouldn't he -

Her gaze fell on the folders as he leaned over to pick up the one that had slipped off his lap when he was dreaming so restlessly. He'd been playing catch up, hadn't he? Because of her. And he'd done it while watching over her as she slept? Her fascinated gaze followed him upwards as he set the file to one side and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Then he leaned back in the generously cushioned chair, rested his elbows on the arms, and laced long fingers over his flat stomach while staring intently at her. For a change.

"You obviously have questions." She nodded without waiting for a reply, "Go ahead and ask. I'll do my best to answer."

"Full disclosure." He didn't look convinced.

"I can only tell you what I know."

"You could choose not to."

Vicki considered that for a moment, but the decision had been made the moment she decided to heal him, "I could. But I don't."

Thick lashes flickered as his gaze briefly followed the movement of her legs beneath the covers when she drew her knees up towards her body and settled into a more comfortable position. Then he looked into her eyes again, "Why?"

"I told you. Trust. How can I expect you to trust me, if I won't trust you? One of us had to make the first move."

When he frowned at the last sentence, Vicki wondered why, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived; replaced with the unreadable expression she hated so much, "You expect full disclosure from me in return."

"I didn't say that." She smiled wryly, "Not likely it'll happen anyway, is it?"

"No." But for a brief second he almost looked like he might smile in reply.

"Call it a leap of faith then..."

"Why take the risk if you know you won't get anything in return?"

"Why did you give the League the tracking program? You didn't have to do that."

"If there's the remotest chance someone might get to me through a weakness in your system?" He quirked dark brows.

There were times Vicki really wanted to shake him. But if there was one thing she'd learned; "You don't trust people. I get it. It's not that you've singled us out for special treatment. You take a calculated risk every time you let anyone into your inner circle."

"It's a short list of names, believe me."

"I'm aware of that. It's the same for all of us. Fact is – you _did _take a chance on us. I don't know what Clark said or did to get you to do that..." Whatever it was it must have been good. But then that was Clark all over, wasn't it? People put their trust in him. In return, he never let them down. "...but whatever it was, you made the decision to sign up for a trial period. Call it a calculated risk if you want. Obviously you did it with certain stipulations -"

"Many of which, the League has broken..."

"In fairness, that was mostly me." Vicki grimaced, "But if I didn't know what the stipulations were, how could I know I was breaking your rules?"

"You should have been told."

"I thought it was on a need to know basis. And you'd decided the fewer people who knew, the better."

Bruce took a deep breath and looked away from her as he exhaled. Searching for patience? Losing it? He looked out of the windows while he spoke, "I believe there were four people who joined the League in the same period of time. Did you investigate all of them?"

"I've known Clark for most of my life. We grew up together."

"And the other two?"

"I know their call signs. I talk to them when I have updates or when they need something – the same way I used to with you. Not that there was ever a case of the latter with you. Or any instances of you wanting to share information with us. But apart from that..." She knew exactly what he was going to ask the second he looked at her.

"So why did you investigate me?"

And there it was, "I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

Damn it. There was full disclosure and then there was confessing the connection she'd felt to Knight before she knew who he was. That kind of confession opened a whole new can of worms. So she went with what she considered the lesser evil, "I needed to know who I was dealing with. If Batman was on the wrong side, I'd have worked with Knox to expose him. But if he was on the right side, I needed to know so I could keep Knox off the trail. And so I could inform the League to allow them to make a decision on whether or not to approach him. Then, when Oliver told me he had someone watching over me..."

Dark eyes narrowed an almost imperceptible amount. Enough to give her the impression he still didn't believe her and forcing her to add; "You'd have done exactly the same thing. I know you would."

"Did Queen tell you one of my stipulations was no member of his team was ever to set foot in Gotham?"

"Did you make that stipulation before or after I got here? Oliver is incredibly good at finding loopholes."

"Why Gotham?"

"That was my decision."

Bruce frowned.

"I shouldn't get to choose where I live?"

"I didn't say that," He continued frowning, "You had dozens of cities to choose from. Why here?"

Vicki blinked incredulously, "I don't get it. After what happened, _this _is what you want to know?"

The little she'd learned of him had led her to believe he would want the science of it all. How she did what she did, where it came from; he'd argue the laws of known physics and biology it defied. At the very least he'd want to know _why _she did it, or maybe when she'd discovered she could do it. But she hadn't expected a conversation about her choice of living arrangements. No matter how she tried, she could never figure out how his mind worked. It was a rare experience for her. Part of her work with the League, and as a reporter, involved building a profile of people, but Bruce Wayne had so many layers-

"Things have a tendency to be inter-connected." He replied, his frown fading to make way for the unreadable expression that made her miss the crinkles on his forehead. At least when he was frowning she was getting a reaction.

But what he'd said didn't make sense, "The only connection is me."

How did where she lived, what she ate for breakfast, her favorite flowers or which side of the bed she slept on, have anything to do with her ability to heal people? Was he profiling _her_? The thought he might find her as difficult to understand as she did him, was oddly comforting to Vicki. She smiled at the thought. Then her stomach growled and she chuckled softly in reaction, "Sorry. When I do my thing I tend to-"

"Wake up and eat like a horse." A hint of passing amusement sparkled in his eyes, "Yes. Queen mentioned that."

"You called Oliver?"

Bruce pushed to his feet, "I needed to know what I was dealing with."

Great. That meant there was a long discussion coming her way. Oliver had mixed feelings on the subject. On the one hand, he understood her empathy and the need to help others. On the other, every time she used her ability, he saw it as a red flag that might pinpoint her location. They'd debated it long and hard, she'd even confessed her fear of being treated differently or – in the worst case scenario - becoming the subject of media attention, which would have been disastrous, even without the Luthor problem. Then, of course, there were the unknowns as her ability continued to develop...

Bruce stood in front of his chair, watching her as she pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the large bed, "You'll want to shower and change. You can call Alfred if you require assistance with anything."

Wriggling forwards until her feet touched the floor, Vicki sighed impatiently and looked up at him from underneath her lashes, "I'm not an invalid."

Without heels, she had to tilt her chin higher than normal to continue looking at him when she was upright. Irrationally, her fingertips itched to push the lock of dark hair into place. No man had any right to look as good as he did after sleeping in a chair. And not sleeping particularly well when it came down to it. She could still sense the restlessness in him, the control he exerted over his inner demons weakened by his unconscious state. She'd known he was close to Rachel Dawes, but the way he'd called her name had given her a hint of just how deeply he felt her loss. Had he loved her? Vicki knew instinctively he had. Had he been _in love_ with her? An icy chill ran down her spine when she remembered the things the Joker had said to Batman. It was cruel enough when he was talking about someone Bruce had loved. But when it was a woman he'd been _in love with_? To have lost her that way and been unable to stop it happening? Vicki felt the pain in her suddenly heavy heart as keenly as if it was her own loss.

But her expression made Bruce's eyes narrow again, "What?"

She shook her head. What could she say? There was nothing she could do to heal that kind of pain for him. For anyone. She just wished...

The large part of her that had always tried to reach out to people forced her feet to take a step closer to him; her mouth opening as she searched for the right words to let him know -

The reciprocal step away froze her feet to the ground. He turned to pick up the files but she knew, as subtle as the move had been, it wasn't why he'd done it. And the silent rejection hurt more than it should have, given the tentative nature of their relationship. It was the look that preceded it that had done the most damage, and the matching sideways glance he gave her before he stood tall again. Filled with wariness. And caution. A silent acknowledgement of the fact he saw her differently. In anyone else it could have been described as fear of the unknown. But Bruce Wayne wasn't the kind of man who allowed himself to feel fear, was he?

Vicki swallowed to loosen the tightness in her throat. She remembered the number of times she'd hidden what she could do from the people closest to her. How long it had taken to pluck up the courage to believe in them and their love for who she was rather than what she was or the things she could do. Why should she expect a stranger to overlook the fact she was different? Especially when he was so unwilling to accept anything that broke the known rules of nature. She was nothing but an inconvenience to him as it was. Why should he care that so small a rejection hurt her so deeply? It shouldn't have. She knew that. But it did. So she turned away before he could see it in her eyes.

"I'd like to talk to you about the information in these files."

Vicki nodded as she walked away, "Fine."

She was in the doorway when he spoke again, his deep voice even toned, "I have an appointment to attend in the city, but I should be back by mid-afternoon."

"Okay. You're not the only one with things to do. I have to go in to the Gazette. I need to talk to Knox. And my Editor will want to know what's happening with the interview I'm supposed to be doing."

"They're not expecting the interview for another couple of weeks."

It was enough to get her to turn around again, "What did you do?"

Bruce was still standing in the same place she'd left him, "Wayne Entertainment bought the Gotham Gazette yesterday."

Meaning he was her boss? Vicki's eyes widened. Was there nowhere she could escape him? And how would it look? If people bought into the idea she was living with him, then to have him buy the paper...

"The Editor-In-Chief felt running your article when news of the acquisition is made public would make for good P.R.. I agree with him."

"And you get to control what goes into it."

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, "There was never a time when I wasn't in control of the things that are printed about me."

"I can't write that article now."

"Why not?"

How could he not know the answer to that? Vicki shook her head, "Because you've just made it impossible for me. Writing it as your live-in-girlfriend would have been risky enough. Writing it as the live-in-girlfriend of the man who just bought the paper smacks of nepotism at best. My work there will never be taken seriously again."

"Your work was taken seriously before. I'm certain it will continue to stand on its own merit." Apparently Bruce didn't see a problem, his voice still irritatingly calm, "Some readers may find your additional insight into Bruce Wayne interesting enough to buy a copy of a paper they wouldn't ordinarily have given a second glance. If your aim was to be taken seriously professionally, I'd have thought the Gotham Times would be a more worthy employer."

"The Times is owned by Wayne Entertainment. You'd be my employer there too."

"Which is why I know it's a more serious newspaper. The Gazette falls under the realm of Tabloid news."

The man was completely missing the point. Why was it so difficult for him to see things from her point of view? Vicki stepped back into the room, her chin held high with determination, "I'm not there to make a name for myself. I changed identities – I didn't have plastic surgery. But every single photograph, every single word that goes to print under the name Vicki Vale is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but. I have standards I live by. I can't write an article about you that's edited by you then printed in a newspaper you own. That's not freedom of the press, that's exactly what you called it; P.R. And unless I'm mistaken you already have a department for that. Why would you buy the Gazette if it's not to control what it prints about you?"

The penny dropped, and Vicki let out a short burst of self-discriminating laughter at her own stupidity. She rolled her eyes, "God. I'm such an idiot. You didn't do it to control me. You already knew I wouldn't print that article without running it past you. You did it to control _Knox_. You didn't trust my judgement."

Bruce pushed his hands into his pockets and stood his ground, "The Gazette was a good investment. The fact they're less likely to publish an article from questionable sources when the subject of that article controls their pay-checks added to my interest. Anything else they choose to print will be an editorial decision. With circulation figures in mind; obviously."

"_Obviously_," She smirked sarcastically, "But the fact I told you he didn't have enough to go to print meant nothing to you."

"Call it a contingency plan if it makes you feel better."

It didn't, "The fact it makes my position there untenable was a bonus though, wasn't it? You made it plain you didn't want a member of the team in Gotham. So now you know I'm here, you're doing everything possible to make it difficult for me to stay."

"I'd have thought between your job at the Gazette and being photographed publicly with Bruce Wayne, now that Luthor is out of prison your position in Gotham was already untenable."

"Which was your plan all along?"

Vicki didn't know why she was so surprised. Or disappointed. There wasn't anything he'd said or done to hint that he'd changed his mind about her. He was so insular, so self-reliant, so unwilling to let anyone close, that it didn't seem to have occurred to him if she hadn't been there when he was so badly injured, at the very least his secret identity may have been compromised. Hell, he might not know it, but his injuries had been so severe he might have died. And it wasn't that she wanted him to feel beholden to her or that she wanted him to change the habits of a lifetime to trust her in return for what she'd done – she never looked for any kind of payback when she healed someone. She did it because she wanted to, because there were times when she had to. Healing him had been a combination of both - and a sense of urgency. When she'd looked down at him in the back of the car, he'd seemed so... vulnerable... so alone in a way that had echoed inside her the same way it had when she'd talked to Knight before she knew who he was. In the adrenalin driven panic of the moment, she'd thought they might lose him. And _that _thought? Well she'd have felt the same way about any member of the team, wouldn't she?

But why? _Why _did she keep allowing herself to hope for more from him? He wasn't like the rest of them. No matter what similarities there were.

A cocktail of anger, frustration and the hurt she'd felt at his earlier silent rejection, shook around inside her and mixed with the usual maelstrom of the hormonal imbalance she experienced after a substantial use of her ability. She couldn't stay there, in the same room as him, let alone the same house. She felt choked, smothered, claustrophobic, like a great weight was pressing in on her from all sides. The last time she'd felt that way was the moment she'd finally accepted the life and the people she loved were being taken from her. She'd swore it would never happen again. What Bruce was forcing her to accept didn't feel any better than the end result of dealing with Luthor.

"Why does the job at the Gazette matter? It's a cover. It's not who you are."

"No. It's not. But it's a valuable part of what I do. And the only contact I have with the outside world beyond a computer terminal. Vicki Vale the reporter has friends there – not that I expect you to understand what that means." When her lower lip threatened to tremble, she bit down on it, fought back oncoming tears, and allowed anger to replace the pain as a shield, "You may be happier living a life of isolation but not everyone feels that way. Try looking outside your self-imposed solitary confinement for two seconds. Because if you don't? If you don't interact with people and spend time in the light, then how in hell will you know what it is you're fighting for?"

Bruce's expression darkened, "I don't need you to tell me -"

"You need _someone _to tell you!" Vicki thrust an arm out to her side and pointed her forefinger at the windows, "There's a whole world of people out there!They don't spend every second of every day thinking about things that go bump in the night or living in fear of what the bad guys might do next. They spend time with the people they love – with friends and family – because by laughing with those people and sharing things with those people, they gain the strength to make it through the dark days. They know why they do the things they do. They know why they get out of bed every day – some of them to do a job they hate. They know why they scrimp and save for the small luxuries that might make life more comfortable for the people who matter to them. People who are there for them no matter how tough things get."

Voice rising, emotion beginning to seep through the edges of her anger and making her vision blur, she let the words continue to roll off the tip of her tongue; as if they'd taken on a life of their own with the force of her convictions, "You can't close yourself off from the universe and live your life in that cave if it means you lose sight of the people you're sacrificing so much for. Don't you get that? If you lose sight of them, you risk becoming so obsessed by what you do that it consumes you. And when it does you risk becoming one of the very people you're waging a war against. How can someone so incredibly clever be so _inconceivably dumb_? I didn't choose Gotham to break your stupid rules. I didn't even know who you were when I chose to live here. _Live_. Not _hide_. Because if I hide away in the Justice League's equivalent of a headquarters Luthor wins, don't you get that? The job at the Gazette isn't just about being at the center of a place that gathers information. It's the one thing... the one thing left that..."

The lack of oxygen to her aching chest forced her to stop when it got too difficult to speak; her throat closing from the effort to hold back her emotion as she looked away from him and took a moment to gather herself together.

"Keep going."

Drawing in much needed air, it took a moment for her to realize the low words had come from the man facing her. She blinked at him a couple of times to clear her vision, then frowned at his goddamn unreadable expression as she shook her head, "Forget it. You wouldn't understand. I doubt you even remember who you were before you started all this."

"I remember everything." A muscle working in his jaw was the only sign he felt something, "It's the one thing left that what?"

Vicki turned her face towards the sunshine streaming through the windows. But she wasn't looking at the view beyond, or the blue sky that held the promise of a beautiful day. She was seeing decades into the past. When her life had been simpler. To a time when there had been a small girl filled with hopes and dreams of the future. A girl who had been sheltered from the darkness by the love of her father and who had viewed the weird and unexplained with the same fascination and sense of wonder as a child who believed in fairies or magic or things that ended in Happily Ever After. A small part of Vicki was still that girl. But she was drowning. She'd been paddling like crazy under smooth waters for most of her early teens, then there'd been times when she'd had to fight her way through stormy seas as she got older. Somehow she'd never lost sight of the shoreline, no matter how bad things had got. And for a long time Clark had been her life raft. The one thing she could hold onto, no matter what. Until he'd left...

A lone tear spilled over the edge of her lashes, blazing a trail down her cheek unchecked as Vicki saw her life through Chloe Sullivan's eyes and mourned the loss of the girl she'd once been. The little girl who'd had so many dreams felt like she was drowning. But the woman who had risen from the ashes was determined to stay afloat. She was just having an off day was all. Everyone was entitled to a moment of self-pity. Especially when confronted with the potential loss of the one thing she'd managed to hold onto from her early dreams.

Taking a deep breath, she came back to the present; dismissing the streak of moisture on her cheek with a swipe of her hand, then lifting her chin an inch as she looked at the silent man who was watching her. He wanted to know. Fine, she'd tell him. It wasn't like he'd get it anyway, "My job at the Gazette: It's the only thing I have left of the person I wanted to be. My last link to who I was. Call it a reminder, call it an echo, call it whatever-in-hell you want. Simple fact is; it's mine to keep, not yours to take. If, or when, I give up the life of a reporter, it'll be because there's something in my life that matters more to me. And believe me – whatever it is?"

Vicki lifted a hand and placed it over her heart, "It'll be something I feel _in here_ and give _from here_."

His gaze slide down to her hand before he looked back into her eyes again.

She dropped her hand to her side, "It's where my ability to heal people comes from too."

Turning on her heel she made a second attempt at leaving the room, only to be stopped by his voice again, "What happens when you've nothing left to give?"

It could have been a telling question if she chose to read it that way. Vicki took a moment to consider it from that perspective before dismissing the idea as yet another example of looking for something from him that he was incapable of trusting her with. Then she considered the context of his question; scientific or personal? With a sigh, she realized it didn't matter. Either way she would give the same answer. And she was tired of arguing with him.

So she turned her head and looked over her shoulder, "I search for more."

"And if you can't find it?"

"Then I do what everyone else does. I die trying. It's the most any of us can do."

"You have a very simplistic view of things."

"Do I?" She turned around, lifting a brow in question, "I believe the nature of the choices we make define us as human beings. We choose the world we inhabit, or we choose to take steps to change it. Does that make me so very different from you?"

The answer took a long moment, "Maybe not."

It was the biggest concession he'd made since she'd met him. At least it felt like it was. Vicki didn't know how to respond to it without risking another of the conversations she didn't have the energy to engage in. So she took a leaf from his book and didn't give anything away. Instead she turned to leave the room. Third time lucky? She hesitated in the doorway. When he didn't say anything, she exhaled – unaware she'd been holding her breath – and stepped into the hallway. Ten steps backwards for one baby step forwards; that was how it felt, spending time with Bruce Wayne.

When she was standing under a hot shower, she allowed herself to wonder if he'd been that way with Rachel too. Had everything been a battle? Or was it partly because of what happened to her that he was so closed off? Vicki had allowed herself to consider what it might have felt like for Bruce to have lost the woman he was in love with. But she hadn't stopped to think about what it might have been like for Rachel to be loved by him. With the same intensity he had for the only other thing he was passionate about...

The thought created a rash of goosebumps on her naked skin, despite the heat of the water; her physical reaction making her eyes widen in surprise. Then she shook her head at the ridiculousness of it. But as she squeezed shampoo into her palm another thought came to her. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. And if Alfred didn't want to answer her questions then she'd just have to learn to live with it.

She wasn't going to delve into Bruce Wayne's psyche. That was a scary thought, frankly. But she needed to know. She needed to know if the small white marbles she saw when she closed her eyes as she healed him, were something to do with Rachel. Because if some of the pain she'd felt during the transfer was emotional, and the vision she'd had was connected to his past, then it was something she'd never experienced before. In which case she needed to know how it had happened, what had triggered it, and why. The why most of all. Starting with...

_Why him_?


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine.**

_Municipal Police Complex, Gotham City – Afternoon._

The large Gothic-style building was active when Bruce entered the complex and asked for directions. Two floors later he was in a comfortable, well appointed office where framed degrees lined the walls and a slender woman was walking across the room to greet him.

"Mr. Wayne." She shook his hand, "How may I help you?"

Straight to the point. Bruce liked that. He handed her the folder he was carrying, "Somebody's been sending me love letters. I figured a psychiatrist might be able to give me an expert opinion."

"Please, take a seat," She indicated the chair facing her desk as she took the folder and walked around to the other side, "I'd have thought a bachelor billionaire so visibly in the public eye would receive love letters on a regular basis."

"Not like this, he doesn't." Bruce smiled one of his most winning playboy smiles as he sat down. The good doctor didn't seem impressed. Instead she opened the folder and looked at the letters; the third of which had arrived while Vicki slept, the fourth with the morning mail. Bruce tapped his fingers absent-mindedly on the arm of his chair as he waited.

"Psychiatrists make you nervous?" She didn't look up.

Bruce remained in character, "Only the beautiful one's."

"The infamous Wayne charm." She continued reading, "Does it ever stop?"

"On occasion." He stifled a smile, "Mostly late at night."

"When you're sleeping, no doubt."

Bruce smiled more openly while she continued reading, his fingers stilling as he tilted his head to the side to examine the spines of books on a nearby shelf before he turned his attention to a small wicker doll on the desk in front of him. Lifting it, he turned it over in his hands, "Still playing with dolls, Doc?"

"It's a Malaysian dream warden. She stands sentry while you sleep and calms your dreams." Long lashes lifted and she studied him for a moment, "Need one?"

"Me?" Bruce shook his head, "Nah. Only things that need calming in my dreams are the Rockettes..."

The younger woman held his gaze for a long moment; as if sizing him up. If Bruce's instincts were correct – which they usually were – she wasn't buying it. She looked at the letters again, laying them out side-by-side as Bruce tried to figure out what age she was. She didn't look much beyond mid-twenties at most. Could have passed for younger without her business-like pencil skirt and tailored jacket. Pretty young for a woman in her position. When he'd looked her up he'd been surprised to discover she did profiling work for the police department as well as psychological evaluations of the criminals housed in Arkham. Pretty heavy duty work for someone who looked so...

He frowned when he realized her colouring and the sunlight shining on her from the windows had reminded him of Vicki for a second. There was no escaping her was there? It was as if she'd burrowed into his subconscious and refused to leave.

The doctor's voice interrupted his thoughts; "My opinion? This letter writer is a total wacko."

"That a technical term?"

"Okay then," She leaned back in her chair, "If this was a patient, I'd say he or she apparently suffers from acute obsessional syndrome."

"In other words a total wacko." Bruce smiled again.

It was enough to merit a hint of a smile in return, "Exactly."

When her attention returned to the letters, he noticed what looked like Batman research on the other side of her desk. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the top of her head. Professional curiosity or investigation for the police department? Then he noticed a framed print hanging on the wall behind her. A bat. With its wings outstretched in flight.

"You have a thing for bats?"

She knew what he was looking at without turning to confirm it, "That's a Rorschach, Mr. Wayne. People see what they want to. I think the question would be, do _you _have a thing for bats?"

It was a stupid mistake. One he wouldn't normally have made. Maybe he had more on his mind than he'd realized; his last conversation with Vicki still playing like a Movie on a loop. But he couldn't allow his mind to focus on the clues she'd given him to who she really was; he needed to focus his mind on the task at hand. Changing his expression to one of concern, he nodded at the letters, "So, this Riddler, he's dangerous? Should I be hiring a bodyguard or something?"

"What do you know about obsession?"

"Not much."

"Obsession is born of fear. Recall a moment of great terror in your life. Say you associate that moment with..." She shrugged, "...a bat. The bat's image becomes a cancer of the mind, grows more real than your daily life. Can you imagine something like that?"

"It's a stretch, but I'll try."

"Well, that's your friend the Riddler. Only in his case, for some reason, you've become the cancer in his mind. He's clearly obsessed by you."

"Fear of billionaires? Is there a clinical name for that?"

Looking momentarily amused, her attention returned at the letters, "'_You saw me where I never was and where I could not be. And yet within that very place, my face you often see._' He sees himself as a reflection of you or that something in your life is a reflection of his. '_You heard me before, Yet you hear me again, Then I die, 'Till you call me again._' An echo. Another version of a reflection. Something about your life is echoed in his or vice-versa. '_The more you take the more you leave behind_.' Footsteps. He possibly sees himself walking in your footsteps, following the same path as you. He feels some kind of connection to you or wants to be like you – you quite possibly have a lifestyle he envies. '_Each morning I appear to lie at your feet. All day I will follow, no matter how fast you run. Yet I nearly perish in the midday sun._'"

"A shadow, right?" Bruce grinned when she glanced up at him, "I got that one all on my own."

"Well done. He's telling you he's shadowing you. Watching you. Possibly stalking you. Like I said: You're his obsession." She took a deep breath, " In the worst case scenario, his only escape may be..."

"To kill me?"

The smile was more open, "You understand obsession better than you think."

"No insights here, doc. Just trying to get comfortable on your couch." Bruce glanced down at his wristwatch, "Oops. Times up."

"That's usually my line."

"Well, I'd love to keep chatting -"

"Would you?" Her eyes glittered in a way that suggested an impish sense of humour beneath her professional exterior, "I'm not so sure."

Bruce stood as she leaned forwards and placed the letters back in the folder before handing it to him, "If I get more fan mail like this, believe me I'll be back. Meanwhile I'll maybe look into that bodyguard thing. Just in case. Can't have another wacko gate-crashing one of my parties the way the Joker did."

"The Joker is a more complex personality than people give him credit for, Mr. Wayne."

The change in her tone made Bruce's hand still on the other side of the folder, "You worked with him?"

She nodded, "At Arkham."

"Wow," He chose his words carefully, "That must have been interesting. The papers have him pegged as a psycho."

"Newspapers have never been renowned for expert psychological judgement. Everyone has reasons for doing the things they do."

"What's the Joker's excuse?"

The smile she gave him didn't warm the sudden coolness in the blue of her eyes, "I'm afraid that would be confidential information. Let me know if you receive more of those letters; particularly if they become deranged. There are laws against stalking. The Police Department should be able to help you if he becomes a nuisance."

"Thanks." Bruce tacked another of his playboy smiles in place, lowering his voice to a smooth drawl, "Maybe we could discuss it over dinner next time."

"Goodbye Mr. Wayne."

Bruce inclined his head, "Dr. Quinn."

On his way out he did a brief survey of the room; locations of filing cabinets, possible positioning of a safe, the type of locks on the doors, any sign of an alarm system. If she had a file on the Joker, he'd find it. But not as Bruce Wayne...

_Wayne Manor – Same Time._

Vicki was relieved Bruce had left before she finally made her way downstairs. Not because she wanted the opportunity to speak to Alfred alone, and not that it was a case of out-of-sight-out-of-mind either. It was more a case of needing breathing room. The mansion felt smaller when he was in it. Even when he wasn't there she could feel his presence. It was in every room. Every hall. On her way to the kitchen it had even occurred to her there may be clues to the inner personality he kept so well hidden in each of those rooms, if she chose to go looking for them. It was the same with everyone's living space. The fact Bruce literally had the enormous house rebuilt brick-by-brick after the fire that decimated it might have suggested to some there was nothing left from the previous version to put the pieces together; photographs, childhood memorabilia, things his parents would have had when the house was truly a home, would all have been destroyed. The thought made her ache for another loss. It wasn't the just the material possessions, it was the memories and reminders they held of the parents he'd lost. If he'd lost the reminders of those memories, his last link to his childhood in Rachel and was gradually being consumed by another identity, what was left to tie him to Bruce Wayne? The lifeline that would attach him to the man behind the mask before the mask became everything he was and would be; making Bruce Wayne the disguise and Batman who he really was...

'_If you stare into the abyss for long enough, the abyss also stares into you._' Vicki had once thought about that from the point of view of Lex Luthor and the path that had led him from wanting to fight the evil within to becoming that evil. If Bruce had nothing to tie him to the man who wanted to save Gotham from darkness, was he in danger of being consumed by that darkness? What held a person back from staring into the abyss for too long? It was a fine line.

In the bright, sunshine-lit kitchen, Alfred's idea of a substantial brunch would have put a medieval banquet to shame. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, croissants, muffins, fruit, muesli, freshly squeezed orange juice, his usual sensational coffee. Vicki practically moaned with pleasure as she sampled each and every one of the temptations laid out before her on the large table in the kitchen. She hadn't been kidding about her appetite after she used her ability to heal to the extent she had with Bruce. It was part of the mystery of where the energy came from that kind of made sense to her. When the body needed energy under normal circumstances it could be gained from food. She'd just never had someone who could provide such a stunning array of delicious nutrients for her before.

"Can I get you anything else, Miss?" Alfred smiled indulgently as he refilled her coffee cup.

Vicki gulped down a mouthful of muffin, "No. Thank you, Alfred. This is more than enough. You spoil me."

"It's nice to have someone around the place with a healthy appetite. Master Bruce can be remiss when it comes to meal times."

It was the kind of lead-in she'd hoped for, "I don't know how he'd manage without you. You've looked after him his whole life, haven't you?"

"Was here to change his nappies." Alfred nodded as he cleared away some of the empty dishes.

Vicki smiled, pushing her chair back and standing up so she could lend a hand with the clean-up, "Did you know his parents for a long time?"

"A few years, Miss. Wonderful people. Sorely missed. I met Master Thomas in Cambodia when he worked with Médecins Sans Frontières."

She'd known Thomas Wayne was a Doctor, but, "You were with Médecins Sans Frontières?"

"No, Miss," A small, secretive smile appeared on Alfred's face as he took the plates she'd carried across to the counter and started loading the dishwasher, "I had a different reason for being there."

Vicki angled her head and studied Alfred's profile with even more interest than before. Maybe Bruce wasn't the only one with secrets. She smiled when he looked at her, the amusement in his eyes telling her he knew her curiosity was piqued. He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice, "Everyone has a history before we meet them, don't they?"

"Yes. They do." Vicki's smile grew. Stealing another pancake off the plate before Alfred tidied everything away, she rested her hip against the counter; bowing her head and watching as she ripped pieces off the edge before popping them in her mouth. Pushing a small piece into her cheek with the tip of her tongue she asked, "What would they think of Batman? Do you think they'd approve?"

Alfred continued working, placing left-over remnants of food into containers and putting them in the refrigerator, packing the dishwasher, wiping down the counters; everything done with a quiet economy of movement, "I think they would be proud of his goals. But I think they would worry. Understandably so. He takes considerable risks."

Before Vicki could nod in agreement he added; "I think they'd be very thankful there was someone like you to do what you did to save him. It's a rare gift."

Swallowing the piece of food in her mouth took more effort than usual when her throat tightened at the words. She frowned down at what was left of the pancake as she shredded another piece and shrugged, "Anyone would have done the same thing if they could."

"But it wasn't just anyone, was it? It was you." He smiled and stepped around her to lift the last of the plates from the table, "I hope he was bloody grateful. If he wasn't he'll have me to deal with."

Vicki smiled again, unbelievably touched by the way Alfred seemed to have welcomed her beneath his protective wing. She had a sudden mental image of Bruce being told off for not saying thank you. Somehow it didn't quite fit. And for no apparent reason she felt the need to stick up for him, "Don't worry. He thanked me." Looking at the high ceiling, she pouted and rocked her head from side to side with the words; "In his own particular way."

Alfred's look of recrimination made her chuckle beneath her breath. He shook his head, "Master Bruce has a habit of doing a lot of things in his own particular way. You'll grow accustomed to it over time."

"I don't think I'll be here long enough for that, Alfred." She smiled affectionately at him, then asked the one thing he hadn't asked any faster than Bruce, "Don't you want to know how I healed him?"

"Some things just are, Miss. We shouldn't question them."

Instinctively, Vicki knew Alfred was protective enough of Bruce to gently push for more information if he saw her as any kind of a threat. She doubted she'd have been able to let it go as easily had it been her, and up until a couple of hours ago, she'd have said the same thing about Bruce. It was another thing they had in common. By understanding why things happened the way they did, how they had happened, the mechanics and the motivations, it made them easier to recognize. Not that Vicki thought she was likely to come across many people who could do what she could. She hadn't found one, let alone enough to compare statistically.

But Alfred was prepared to leave it be, not because she believed he was incapable of understanding, but because it had saved the life of someone he cared about. Vicki understood that. And it was a sign of trust, which was incredibly flattering, because she had a sneaking suspicion Alfred had good instincts. In contrast, Bruce's reaction had been both out of character and hurtful. He hadn't investigated what she could do even though she'd volunteered to give him the information she had. And then he'd silently rejected her as something to be wary of; something abnormal. The different reactions from the two men brought her closer to Alfred and pushed her further away from Bruce. The latter shouldn't have mattered. But apparently it did. She sighed heavily.

"You're going to the Gazette today, Miss?"

Vicki looked up at Alfred, "Yes. If that's okay." She was going to have to face Knox at some point. She couldn't begin to imagine how thrilled he was with the new owner of the Gazette, "If I had my car here I could drive in myself. I hate to bother you."

"It's quite all right, Miss. The drive from the mansion to Gotham is lovely at this time of year." He studied her for a brief moment, she managed another – somewhat weaker – smile, and then he nodded almost imperceptibly, as if he'd made a decision, "Once you're done at the Gazette, you can help me with an errand for Master Bruce. Seems sensible to me when the errand is for you..."

"For me?" Vicki lifted her brows, "What kind of errand?"

Alfred finished clearing up and dried his hands on a cloth, "Shopping, Miss."

"Shopping for what?"

"For your evening out with Master Bruce..."

"For my _what_?" She didn't remember being told about an evening out. Let alone one that would require a shopping trip.

Alfred smiled another of his small, secretive smiles as he stepped forwards and captured her elbow in a gentle grasp; drawing her away from the counter and towards the door as he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "Master Bruce has a formal function to attend. And since you – _Miss Vicki_ – are perceived as his current paramour, that means he'll be attending with someone considerably more intelligent than his usual companions, if I may be so bold."

Angling her head, Vicki blinked up at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement, "And he was telling me this when, exactly?"

"I believe it was meant as a surprise, Miss."

Oh, it was a surprise all right. Not that she didn't understand the need to continue with the ruse, but a little heads up would have been nice. At the very least a man who supposedly spent so much time in the company of women should have known attending a formal function required a degree of preparation time. What did he think would happen? He'd inform her she was going somewhere a half hour before they were due to leave? That she'd just rustle up an evening dress like a white rabbit out of a hat? And how dare he assume she would go without so much as being asked. Who did he think he was? Even if they were living together the way Gotham Society was supposed to believe they were, there were the basics of consideration and good manners. She wasn't going to drop everything when he snapped his fingers!

"He asked me to acquire the things you might need,but I think it would be a more pleasurable experience for you if you got to acquire them in person. Don't you?" Alfred's eyes sparkled with amusement, "Not that I know why he thought sending me to pick a dress for you was a good idea in the first place. Look at it this way, Miss. How often in life is one handed an expense account and given free rein to return a surprise with interest?"

When the penny dropped, Vicki's expression changed – along with her mood. Alfred was right: How often did a girl get the chance for the Cinderella treatment? If she was supposed to be Bruce Wayne's live-in-lover it made sense to show the world exactly why she'd caught his eye. Not that Vicki, or even the part of her that was still Chloe Sullivan, subscribed to the notion that beauty was skin deep or a book should be judged by it's cover. But having been photographed with an array of stunningly beautiful models and actresses, there would be questions asked if he appeared to be 'settling down' with the equivalent of a girl next door. She didn't even have the pre-requisite silver spoon to make it seem like a suitable match. The last thing she needed was for someone to dig into her background. Not that they'd find anything, but that wasn't the point. If people started asking questions, it was potentially dangerous for both of them. Then she thought back to the way Bruce Wayne had first reacted to Vicki Vale in a formal evening dress – when neither of them had known who the other was and she'd simply been a reporter looking for an interview...

Comparing his reaction to her prior to the reveal of her being a reporter to the way he'd backed off once he'd known she was metahuman, made Vicki's chin lift an inch in determination, "When is this big night out, Alfred?"

"The day after tomorrow I believe, Miss."

"And this expense account, does it stretch to the Spa at whatever Country Club Bruce is a member of?"

Alfred nodded sagely, "I believe it does, Miss."

A smile blossomed inside her chest, "Give me five minutes."

Jogging up the wide staircase to collect a jacket and her purse, Vicki continued smiling while adrenalin sparkled through her veins at the thought of another challenge. Assuming different identities had become something she was pretty adept at. This was simply another one to add to the list. She was going to walk into that formal event and charm everyone she met. If it added a few contacts for her journalism career all the better, especially if she was going to be looking at freelance work in the not too distant future. She would fool the naysayers by showing them what a suitable 'Wayne' she could be – not that there would ever be anyone to take on that role; not if Mr. Trust No-One had anything to do with it. And spending more time with Alfred would be a welcome relief. If by spending time with him while pillaging that expense account she could take a longer break from Bruce and try for more background information at the same time, it was a Win-Win all round.

But if Bruce planned on keeping his distance from her now that he knew she was metahuman he was going to find it pretty damn difficult come date night. Vicki Vale might not have much of a love life, but Chloe Sullivan remembered what it was like to have one. And if they'd been spending as much time 'under covers' as Bruce said people would assume they were, then remaining distant wasn't an option. The least she could do was give him something to work with. One of them should show some consideration. And she was about to be considerate as all hell in that department...

_Beneath Wayne Manor – Late Evening._

Bruce rounded one of the large rock walls and found Vicki sat in front her keyboard, her head bowed as she worked. A combination of curiosity and an unwillingness to break the lighter mood he'd been in after his afternoon's activities, made him stop to watch her for a moment. When Alfred called to say he was taking her into Gotham for the afternoon, Bruce called Lucius and arranged to meet him on the outskirts of the city. Their latest project was almost ready, and she was worth every cent of the millions of dollars she'd cost in research,development, manufacture and testing. The testing part was proving a great form of stress relief. A climb rate of forty thousand feet in a minute could do that, he supposed.

He smiled at the memory.

Vicki's head lifted, she stilled, then she glanced over her shoulder and her gaze unerringly found his; as if she'd known exactly where he was. The dirt floor at the back of the cave would have made it impossible for her to have heard his approach. Maybe she'd heard the elevator coming down.

"Some of the experiments in your lab went 'beep'." She continued what she was doing as he approached the platform, "And before you ask, no, I didn't touch anything. I have enough to keep me occupied."

Calling up the results on a keyboard at the other end of the long desk, Bruce glanced at some of the information on the screens in front of her terminal. It made for an interesting selection of images, "What do ancient coins and military photographs have in common?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

Bruce pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as she looked up at him from the corner of her eye. Studying him for a moment, with her lips pursed in thought, she turned her chair towards him, "You ever come across an organization known as Bureau 39?"

"No."

"How about coins like this one?" She handed an evidence bag to him.

He removed his hands from his pockets to take it from her; folding the plastic tighter over the coin as he examined it, "No. Alexander the Great, right?" When she lifted a finely arched brow, he handed the bag back, "My father had a coin collection. What's the significance?"

"They seem to be used like calling cards. We have four of them now. All from dead bodies or what may have been crime scenes. We think the men were attached to Bureau 39 in one way or another." She frowned down at the bag then tossed it on the desk beside her keyboard before swinging her chair forwards again, "Alexander the Great is Lex Luthor's hero. He modelled himself on him; saw himself as an equally great leader. The coins tie him to Bureau 39."

"Loosely." Bruce pulled out another chair and sat down, "Unless there's a fingerprint on one of your coins there's no evidence of a connection."

"Luthor fingerprints aren't the kind kept on IAFIS. He's smarter than that."

Bruce set a program running to compare the results of the new samples he'd been testing to the previous ones he had from the Joker's victims. If she was right about the men in the warehouse that night, the samples would match and there would be another connection. She was right. There were many different forms of fingerprints in crime investigation. Patterns of behaviour, M.O., the nature of the crime, sometimes even the victims. Then there were people like Dr. Quinn who were hired by Police Departments and the F.B.I. to form psychological profiles. Another kind of fingerprint, formed from the rest of the information put together.

The samples matched. There was no way to know if the men that night had been delivering the boxes or stealing them, but it was too much of a coincidence, forcing Bruce to ask; "Do you have any kind of database on the chemicals Luthor worked with?"

Vicki glanced at his face, at the monitors, then back at his face again, "You took samples from the warehouse?"

"Yes."

"When did you do that?"

Bruce leaned back in his chair and casually turned it towards her, "Again – wasn't aware I had to report back to you..."

When she rolled her eyes, he found himself fighting the need to smile in response. Instead he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking into the green of her eyes as she turned towards him, "All right. Let's say your friend Luthor supplied the Joker with the chemistry. Why would he do that?"

"Believe me when I tell you: Trying to climb inside Lex Luthor's mind is not something anyone should attempt without being aware of the dangers involved. He has a way of seducing people to his way of thinking..."

The bitterness in her tone suggested she had first hand experience, "Which is?"

Shadows crossed her eyes, "It depends on whether or not you're the kind of person who believes in collateral damage. That the end justifies the means. He doesn't sway towards the low end ratio when it comes to the number of lives lost in the name of the greater cause. Or the pain and suffering involved. As far as Lex is concerned saving the world means sacrificing those he deems less important in his vision of the New World Order. In his mind, he's the hero of the piece rather than the villain. No-one else is prepared to do what needs to be done except him. And one day he'll step up, accept his reward and the people of the planet will see him for the great leader he truly is..."

She aimed a small, bitter smile in Bruce's direction, "Thing is, somewhere in there, buried under all that egotism, there's someone whose not entirely wrong. There _are _dangers the world needs to be protected from. Just not the way he does it." She shook her head, "I'll send over the files we have on Luthorcorp experiments. You'll need to lower your firewall..."

When she swung back to her keyboard, Bruce did the same; tapping instructions and watching as the transfer of information began, "Is there any particular reason why I haven't been given this information before?"

"You never indicated you needed it before. Ask and you shall receive, isn't that the saying?" Her sideways glance held a combination of accusation and amusement in equal measures, "The weekly updates are current. Until Luthor broke out of prison, all the files pertaining to him were closed; used only for reference."

Breathing deep, Bruce realized she'd just proved a point about working with the League. If there was a match in their database for the chemical composition of the Joker's Smylendol, he might have to review his stance on the sharing of information. It would mean backing down. Bruce hated doing that. Always had. Always would.

Another thought occurred to him, "Have any of those coins turned up in Gotham?"

She nodded, "Yes. The coroner pulled a body out the harbor a few weeks ago. I.D'd as Benton Wellesley, former C.I.A. Agent, transferred to the DDS a few years back."

"Cause of death?"

"Anaphylactic shock."

"He overdosed on nuts?" Bruce asked dryly.

"He was covered in bee stings. His body was swollen to twice it's normal size. As if he was attacked by hundreds of them."

Bruce searched his memory, "One of your metahuman files mentioned someone who could control insects."

"Greg Arkin had the same abilities as an insect. Sasha Woodman could control bees." She smiled a small, teasing smile, light dancing in her eyes, "Don't worry, you get to know them faster when you've dealt with them or spent time investigating them."

"And were both of these people in Belle Rive like the others you mentioned when Kent and Queen were here? You see that as the link to Luthor, right?"

"We do." She nodded, "But it's not the only one. Sasha Woodman was in Belle Rive. Greg Arkin wasn't."

"So what's the connection with him?"

"Donovan Jamison. Or more precisely – _Doctor _Donovan Jamison..." She called up a file on her terminal and put the information on one of the screens over her head, "He was researching the properties of mineral rocks with Dr. Adam Walsh and Dr. Steven Hamilton; claimed he wanted to cure meteor rock infection. What he _was_ doing, was experimenting on the bodies of metahumans to try and find a way of gaining their abilities for himself."

Bruce moved his chair closer so he could get a better view of the screen as she continued.

"He was arrested for selling sensitive technology secrets about mineral detection from the company he worked for, to an unknown source. Maintained he'd been framed throughout the trial. Disappeared before sentencing." She leaned back in her chair, "Four years later he became the primary physician for 33.1; aiming to cultivate metahuman powers into one super-powered individual. He was based at the Corto Maltese facility when the League levelled it."

"Corto Maltese," Bruce pressed his mouth into a thin line and inhaled through his nose as he nodded, "Where you played on the beach as a child and danced with your father on the hotel patio."

She shrugged the shoulder closest to him, "We needed to make sure the facility hadn't been re-opened in any way. We do random checks from time to time. I used the cover of a photo-journalist to get into the war zone. Two birds, one stone."

"Where is Jamison now?"

"Lex had plans to take his research one step further and create an army of super-soldiers. Had some success with the creation of the Mark IV prototype in Project Ares." She called up more photographs, "When Jamison was given alien DNA to amalgamate with the army of clones, the donor turned on him. Both Jamison and Bartlett – the Project Ares supervisor – were killed at the original Reeves Dam facility."

"In other words a dead end." When she looked at him he added; "No pun intended."

"Well, yes and no." She turned towards him again, "We know there was a connection between Greg Arkin and Luthor through Jamison – which means there's a good chance Lex has Arkin's DNA in his collection. We know Jamison and Bartlett worked in different areas of 33.1 - which means they were attached to the research that led to Lex's clone army. That means there's a good chance there's an Arkin clone and we can look into ways to fight it. We also know Jamison and Bartlett are dead which means I can tick them off my list."

When she smiled sweetly at him, Bruce asked the obvious, "What list?"

"The list of scientists who worked with the Luthors'. Specifically those who specialized in DNA."

"Because if he continued building an army after the League thought they'd hit all of his facilities -"

"Then he needed the manpower to make it happen." Her smile became more genuine, "See. Told you, you'd catch up."

Bruce shook his head, "Still doesn't tell me where the Joker fits into this. He's not renowned for being a team player."

"Luthor probably thinks he can control him."

"He can't."

"Lex won't see it that way."

When he checked his screen, the information was still downloading. He glanced at the nearest time stamp in the corner of one of the screens. Too early for Batman. The feeds from the city didn't show anything out of the ordinary either. The Joker was playing the same game of hit and hide. So Bruce took another deep breath and made a decision, "Okay. Give me what you've got on Bureau 39."

Vicki turned to look at him again, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she tucked a loose strand of hair from her plait behind her ear, "Why the sudden interest in everything the League is investigating?"

"If there's a connection I need to know. Do you want another pair of eyes for a couple of hours, or not?"

"You could help me cross-reference Wellesley with Thompson, Trask and Newcombe if you like." She searched each of his eyes in turn, "I'm working on that and the list of scientists at the same time."

It astounded Bruce that she'd ever had time for a journalism career on top of her Watchtower duties. Maybe he'd done her a favour by making it difficult for her to work at the Gazette, "In order to do that, I would need to know who Thompson, Trask and Newcombe are, wouldn't I?"

The smile was slow, almost hesitant, and was accompanied by a brief shake of her head as if she still couldn't believe he was offering assistance, "Thompson claimed to be a kind of government ombudsman for the FBI. His body was found in Metropolis harbor."

"Killer bees again?"

"No. From what the coroner could tell, he was shredded. By thousands of small pieces of glass."

Which connected his death to one of the men at the warehouse that night. The one who'd vibrated glass. Bruce searched his memory for the man's name. McKnight. That was it. Tyler McKnight. Bruce nodded. And the glow in Vicki's eyes told him she knew he'd made the connection.

"We think Trask started out with a branch of the Air Force." She pointed at one of the photographs she'd had on screen when Bruce arrived in the cave, "He's the one circled in the middle. No military record on file. He dropped off the map six years ago, turned up in Metropolis not long after the first public appearance of Superman, said he was with the FBI – no record of that either. He tried to kill Superman and was shot by a woman from the E.P.A."

"I read something about that in the Daily Planet."

"It made the front page," Vicki smiled, "Well, most of it did. His body was taken right after he was shot. Disappeared into a green mist. A woman dressed in black took him."

"Metahuman." Bruce could see the pattern she was following.

"A clone of a metahuman. Alicia Baker. She was a teleporter."

"Course she was."

The tone of his voice earned another smile, "General Burton Newcombe, retired Air Force. He's to the left of Trask in the picture. Worked with Bureau 39. Clark says he gave the impression it had been around for a long time. He talked about taking an oath and how people like Trask would hide in plain sight."

"Like you do." Bruce commented.

"Newcombe gave him a security card to get..." After ignoring his comment, she hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words with more caution, "...Clark and his partner from the Daily Planet into a warehouse by the docks in Metropolis. It was some kind of storage depot for Bureau 39, Clark said. All the windows were blown inwards when they got there. That's where he found the coin."

"It could have been the primary crime scene. Where Thompson died."

"It could. But by their second visit it was cleared out and the windows had been replaced. There was no physical evidence. Whoever or whatever it is, Bureau 39 seems to run a pretty slick operation."

Bruce nodded again, "And with all those Government connections it suggests covert ops of some kind."

"Add Luthor's operation to it and we could have a major problem." Her smile faded and was replaced with a more business-like attitude, "The Luthorcorp files I'm downloading to your computer lists the known Government agencies they did business with; D.O.D., NASA – that kind of thing."

"I'll take a look and see if they match up with any of the Government agencies Wayne Enterprises have done business with over the years."

The warmth returned to her eyes, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Bruce allowed her a brief hint of a smile, then looked up at the photograph again, "Where was that picture taken?"

When she didn't reply, he looked at her again and found her grimacing as she looked at him from the corner of her eye, "That's where I might lose you..."

He waited.

"They may have been part of an ongoing Air Force investigation department set up after the Roswell incident in New Mexico."

"Based in the mythical Area 51 no doubt."

"There's no proof there wasn't an Area 51."

"There's no proof there was."

"It's not like the Government is likely to make it public knowledge, is it?" Leaning back in her chair, she folded her arms defensively and lifted her chin the way she always did when she was about to challenge him, "You're skeptical."

"As in using intellectual caution and suspending judgement? Yes, I am. Your point?" He folded his arms in a mirror of her stance.

"I thought part of an investigators skill was keeping an open mind."

Bruce fought the need to smile again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had someone to debate with the way he did with Vicki, "Until there's irrefutable evidence; I remain skeptical. Having an open mind prior to the collection of physical evidence doesn't extend to Urban Myths."

"Urban myths like – oh, let's say people who can fly – or move objects with their mind or visitors from another planet or... crime fighters who take on the form of a human Bat..." She batted long lashes at him.

Touché. When another hint of a smile broke loose, she smiled back at him. But Bruce didn't allow the moment to last. Instead he unfolded his arms, turned his chair, and reached for his keyboard, "You want the C.I.A. or the F.B.I.?"

"I'll take the C.I.A. since you're so at home in the F.B.I. Database..."

A couple of hours later, Vicki was still marvelling at the fact Bruce had offered to help, never mind the small matter of them communicating on the subject of Justice League business in a way they never had before. Not that she didn't appreciate his help, or that they hadn't gotten through the cross-checks in half the time, or that two heads literally were better than one; particularly when Bruce's investigation skills were so well honed. She understood what a huge step it was for him. She also understood that if there was a link between Bureau 39 and Luthor that eventually led back to the Joker and Gotham, Bruce would want to know. She got all of that. But working side-by-side in what could almost have been considered a companionable working environment? Well. Color her surprised.

With their minds focussed on the task at hand, everything else was momentarily forgotten. Vicki had worked with other members of the team at varying times during her Watchtower career, and every time she did, there was a different atmosphere. Clark was often silent, thinking things through and only speaking when he had something pertinent to say or had figured something out that he hadn't considered before. Oliver had a tendency to punctuate the work with moments of humor, sarcasm and teasing when he was in a good mood or grim, tight-jawed determination when they were against the clock. Working with Bruce was different. It wasn't just that he was calm, cool, analytical, matter-of-fact, and instinctual when it came to following a lead; things she suspected he would be regardless of the urgency of the situation -nothing fazed him, even when he remained skeptical about some of the things they discussed. It was the fact she was so physically aware of his presence, Vicki found most disconcerting. She was all too conscious of the number of times he made a point of not touching her during the passing back and forth of sheets of paper or files, or when taking their mugs to the coffee percolator at the back of the platform, or accepting a mug from her when she'd taken a turn at refilling them. If she rolled her chair towards him, he would roll back a little to make room for her. Then there were the times he leaned in to look over her shoulder when he was on his feet (he had a tendency to pace when he was thinking), hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to so much as touch the back of the chair she was sitting on. How could he be so cool and analytical about the work they were doing, but so scared of physical contact in even the most innocent of ways? And yes, she damn well was going to think of it as scared. It was fear of the unknown. Or at the very least wariness of what she could do. But it wasn't like it had to remain unknown, was it? All he had to do was ask and she could tell him that she wasn't likely to do anything without focussing. Okay, so there was the very odd occasion when she could feel something happening she didn't understand yet, but -

It was frustrating as hell. She hated being so physically aware of his every move to the extent where the distance was grating on her nerves. It wasn't like there'd ever been that much physical contact between them to begin with. When her mind wasn't as focussed on what they were doing and she felt it meandering it's way into the area of physical awareness, she took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the happy place she'd been in during her shopping trip with Alfred. The first time Bruce caught sight of her smiling softly at the memory, he frowned. But when she controlled her expression and lifted her brows in question, he simply looked away and went back to work.

Eventually Vicki sighed. She couldn't help it.

Bruce misinterpreted the sound, "You're tired. It's time I checked the city anyway."

"I'm not tired."

"There's no point continuing if you don't have a clear head."

Vicki shook her head as she turned towards him, "I'm not tired. I spent thirty-six hours asleep. My head is crystal clear. But I appreciate the concern."

Dark eyes narrowed as if he resented the idea she'd thought he was concerned for her welfare, then he took a breath and pushed his hands into his pockets again; standing a 'safe' distance away from her, "It's that simple, is it?"

"What?"

"You sleep it off and bounce back as if nothing happened."

"Yes. It's that simple." She rolled her eyes, "And that complicated."

"Was it that simple the times you died?"

Vicki blinked in surprise. That must have been quite the conversation he'd had with Oliver, "That swings more towards the complicated end of the scale. In fairness, it's not something I do too often if I can avoid it. Waking up in a Morgue drawer the first time tends to stick with you."

Bruce continued to stare down at her with the unreadable expression she hated so much. It made her long for the moments when he'd thrown hints of a smile at her as they worked, "And just how often can you die before it sticks?"

It was a good question. Vicki shrugged, "I don't know. I'm pretty sure I'm not immortal, if that's what you mean. If I was, I wouldn't have aged in the last decade, would I?"

The teasing smile she gave him didn't change his expression, "So you don't know how you do the things you do, you don't know how your body replenishes the energy you expend, and you have no way of knowing how many times you can risk your life saving people before you die and stay dead. That about it?"

"More or less."

The unreadable expression changed to a frown of disapproval, "It never occurred to you to use your investigative skills to find out? I believe the Justice League has a science department."

"Star-Labs." She nodded, "It's run by Dr. Emil Hamilton."

"And you're telling me he couldn't run a series of tests for you."

"I'm not a big fan of being a Lab rat. No matter whose Lab it might be or who it is doing the tests. Emil runs regular health checks on me the same way he does with the rest of the team. That's it. But once again – I appreciate your concern."

When she reached for her empty coffee mug and headed for the back of the platform, Bruce followed her with an accusation, "You don't want to know."

"I know enough. If I was worried about something, I could ask."

"Not if you're too scared to know the answers."

Slamming her mug down beside the coffee percolator, she swung round; frowning at him when he took an almost imperceptible sway backwards. She lifted her chin, "Look. I get that you had thirty-six hours to think about this while I was in the land on nod. But here's the thing – I've lived with this for half my life. Which part of working with me for the last few hours suggested to you I wouldn't have questions? You think I haven't investigated what I can do? Questioned it? And yes – been scared of it. If you'd asked me all of this when I woke up instead of focussing on my choice of location, I could have told you then." She shook her head, "I really don't get how your mind works. If you see me as some kind of danger to myself or society then all you had to do was talk it out with me. But if we're going to talk about being scared of what I can do, then let's talk about how frightened you are of it, shall we?"

Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes, "You think I'm frightened of you?"

"Call it whatever you want. Fear of the unknown. Wariness. Caution. They're all symptoms of the way you've been around me since I woke up. I'm not blind." She waved a limp hand in the air between them, "But _this_? This kind of reaction. This... _distance_. It's exactly why I used to hide what I could do – even from the people closest to me. I still hide it. Sometimes when people are dying around me and I could do something about it! So if you have questions – ask. Don't do what you normally do and lock everything away inside your head while you come to conclusions on your own. I'm not an experiment. I'm not evidence to be examined. I'm a living, breathing person with the same thoughts and emotions as everyone else. I just happen to be able to do something other people can't. To me it's no different to what you do as Batman. You fight for Gotham because you can. I heal people because I can. We all make choices based on the things we can do."

When he stared more intently at her, she let out a small burst of self-recriminating laughter, "And I _hate _that I keep doing this with you. It seems like ever since I met you, I've done nothing but hand out lectures on the subject of life, the universe and everything."

"Then why keep doing it?" The words were said on a low, rumbling tone that made the distance between them seem smaller than before, even though he hadn't moved.

Vicki shook her head, her gaze searching the dark depths of his eyes, "Damned if I know." She shrugged, "I say what I think. Always have. You're not the first pig-headed caped crusader I've dealt with, and you won't be the last."

"Just another day at the office."

That was the thing though. It wasn't. She'd known from the start he was different, but she still didn't know why – not definitively anyway. Even when he made her hate him and she felt backed into a corner, she still kept fighting, without really knowing what it was she was fighting for. She could justify it as the need to prove the value of the League, to open him up to the bigger picture he didn't seem to have considered. She could argue she had the right to choose where she lived in the world, defend the careers she cared so much about. But it was more than that. Maybe she didn't want to know what it was and that was why she hadn't thought about it more. Maybe it was the strange effect he'd had on her empathy since before she'd met him face-to-mask. It was as if she felt... connected to him... drawn to him... that somehow she was needed. It was one of the most powerful human emotions after all. So maybe, on some weird subliminal level, she knew she was there for a reason. Despite the roller-coaster of emotions she'd experienced so far. She'd always believed everything happened for a reason. It was just a case of finding out what the reason was. Things that happened, people, the past and the future were inter-woven in a long chain of events. Knowing that had helped her cope with the difficult times while allowing her to appreciate the good times. Because without the former, would the latter have been so sweet?

"_No_." The answer slipped from her lips, barely above a whisper. When it did, she lowered her gaze and turned around; taking her time refilling her mug and focussing on the movements of her hands as she added cream and sugar. She could still feel his presence behind her, her senses on full alert as a shimmer of awareness whispered up her spine and made the hair on the back of her neck tingle.

"I'm not afraid of you."

A smile wavered on her lips. A man like him would never admit to fear, would he?

"Remaining skeptical of what you can do would be pointless, considering I'm standing here because of it."

Long lashes flickered as she listened to the low rumble of his voice. Her spine straightened a little when his voice sounded closer than before.

"Having first hand experience of your investigative skills, I'd have thought understanding what you can do would have been something you'd delve into in great depth."

"Like you would if it was you..." She turned her head a fraction of an inch, fighting the need to turn and look at him.

"Yes."

When she didn't say anything in reply, she heard him take a breath; the mental image of him so strong in her mind that she could close her eyes and visualize his expression, the intense gaze she could feel focussed on the back of her head, the way he stood so tall and self-contained...

There was a minute displacement of air behind her, his voice lower, more intimate and unmistakeably closer than before. As if he was making a point about not being afraid of being close to her, "It's not fear of the unknown. I'm not afraid of what you can do."

Vicki gave in to the need to close her eyes, her mind forming the mental image as the feint movement of her hair told her how close he was standing. She'd never met anyone with so strong a physical presence. Breathing a deep lungful of his familiar scent, she asked the question as she exhaled, "Then what is it?"

The air between them stilled before he answered, "I don't want you to do it again."

Her eyes snapped open, "Do what? Heal you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"The cost is too high."

Vicki turned to face him, frowning when he took a more obvious step back than before, "You could have died."

"I'm aware of that."

Shaking her head, she realized there was no point appealing to his sense of self-preservation. Judging by his tendency to jump off buildings and swing under helicopters, he'd lost that a long time ago. She'd said he was insane. But surely he wasn't suicidal? Her eyes widened. Was he? Was he trying to get himself killed? Because of Rachel?

"Who fights the Joker if you're not here?" she asked.

A wry smile appeared on his mouth, "I'm reliably informed there's a League of so called super-heroes who could take him on. Are you telling me they couldn't?"

There was no way to avoid it; her jaw dropped, "So now that we've passed some kind of test, it means you can get yourself killedr? What the hell's wrong with you?"

When she stepped forwards, his arms snapped up and captured her wrists; the dark frown aimed at them only dissipating when he realized he was touching the sleeves of her sweater instead of skin. Vicki saw the reaction and tugged angrily, "No. You won't catch something by touching me – happy now? You can breathe easy. Let go."

The hold tightened, "Getting killed doing what I do is always a risk. You of all people know that."

"Staying alive is part of the job!" She tugged again, anger and frustration rising to the same levels they had when she'd gotten so emotional with him less than twelve hours ago, "You're no good to Gotham, dead! Going out there with a death wish -"

"I don't have a death wish. I don't need someone like you to save me, either!"

"You need someone to save you all right," She laughed bitterly, "From yourself! You can't go out there with the intention of getting killed. How can you not know that? The fact people think of you as a vigilante is bad enough to begin with, but getting yourself killed -"

"I'm not trying to get myself killed."

"Then what _are _you doing?" While she struggled to free her arms, Bruce calmly stood his ground and let her; dark eyes hooded, his gaze watching her every reaction. There was no point trying to fight him physically, she knew that. Apart from the obvious difference in size and physical strength, he was way out of her league in the hand-to-hand combat department. Not that she hadn't picked up a few self-defence skills from the guys over the years, but it had never really been her thing and Vicki had never had a problem with that – for the most part – until the moments it could have helped and she wished she was stronger. Like now. When she really wanted to smack some sense into him, _"Would you let go of me_?!"

"You have quite a temper, don't you?"

Under normal circumstances, she didn't. He just brought out the worst in her, "If you don't have a death wish, and you're not trying to get yourself killed then what the hell do you call it? I wasn't going to stand by and let you die. What the hell kind of person does that when they can do something about it?" With a deep huff of breath, she stopped tugging on her arms and glared up at him, "And who do you think you are telling me what I can and can't do? You're the biggest control freak I've ever met."

"I don't think it's unfair to get to choose whether or not someone risks their life to save mine."

What? Vicki floundered for a moment, "Which part of me not staying dead wasn't clear? I didn't even die this time. You weren't dead when I healed you."

"Would it have made a difference if I was?"

"No." She shook her head, "I'd have done exactly the same thing."

"And when I woke up, you'd have been dead and I wouldn't have known why..." He cocked his head at an angle, "What if we'd buried you? Or cremated you?"

Good point, but, "In fairness I'd like to think you'd have contacted Oliver before you did either of those things. We all have wills outlining our wishes. But for future reference - if it comes down to it – burying me means I can be dug up again."

It took a second, but when a hint of humour appeared in her eyes Bruce frowned, "It's not funny. And there's no need for future reference, because I'm telling you now – it doesn't happen again."

When his fingers flexed around her wrists, she shook her head again, her voice softer than before, "How are you going to stop me?"

"You get to choose, but I don't?" He took a step closer, towering over her and forcing her to tilt her head back to continue looking up at him, "Trust is a two way street: Your words. I'm telling you I don't want you to do it again. If you want me to trust you, you'll give me your word."

A tense second ticked by, then another. And another. Vicki's chest tightened as it became increasingly difficult to breathe with him standing so close; his thumbs rubbing absent-mindedly against the pulse points in her wrists, "Tell me why."

"I already told you why."

"You said the cost was too high."

"Exactly." His gaze wandered over her face, something resembling curiosity sparkling in the dark pools of his eyes.

Vicki damped her lips, her pulse rate hitching when his gaze lowered to watch the movement, "Why?"

Thick, dark lashes rose sharply as his gaze crashed into hers.

"The cost to who, Bruce?"

The long fingers holding her arms at her sides, loosened enough that she could have gotten free if she wanted to; the tip of his thumbs gently nudging below her sleeves to continue rubbing against her pulse-points - this time skin to skin. As her pulse fluttered in response, he demanded, "Give me your word."

"I can't." She replied breathlessly.

"Why?"

The simple answer would have been it shredded a corner off her heart every time she was forced to stand by and watch people die without being able to do something about it. A part of her knew he would understand that. But it wouldn't be the honest answer. When she'd looked down at him in the car, she'd felt something shift inside her. There hadn't been a choice when it came to healing him. It wasn't just that she wouldn't let him die. It was that she _couldn't_. When it came down to answering the 'why' part of that; "I just can't."

Bruce frowned again, but it wasn't one of his usual frowns of disapproval or anger or frustration. It was almost a frown of confusion. He blinked a couple of times as he searched her eyes; making Vicki feel the need to run and hide when it felt distinctly like he was looking into her soul.

He shook his head, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Get attached to me."

Vicki blinked incredulously, "Yeah, 'cos you've made that so easy."

"I don't need to be adopted like a member of your team."

"Except you _are _a member of my team." She pointed out, fighting the need to surrender to the slow seduction of his deep voice, the movement of his thumbs against her wrists and the close-but-not-close-enough proximity of his large body, "Whether you like it or not, that makes you part of the family. It's my job to care. Even for the unruly child..."

A slow, sardonic smile crept across his mouth; devilishly wicked when accompanied by a new kind of light in his eyes, "You see yourself mothering me, do you? Do I need to show you why that won't work?"

When he closed the gap between their bodies, Vicki stepped back and found herself trapped between him and the counter where the coffee sat. She looked up at him with wide eyes, "This is another attempt at getting me to hate you, isn't it? You're determined never to let anyone get close. Not even as a friend."

"I have friends."

Vicki tried to talk her way out of what was rapidly becoming a dangerous situation, "Do you? You said the list of people you trust was short. I think there's only one person who knows you. _Really _knows you. Everyone else gets whatever side of you, you choose to show them. Never the real you."

"And which one is the real me, Vicki?" He angled his head before lowering it.

She swallowed hard, "I'd like to hope – whoever he is – he knows that bullying me isn't going to work."

The movement of his thumbs against her wrist stopped at the same time as his head stilled; his face inches from hers. While his breath mingled with hers, he continued to look deep into her eyes. A small, vertical frown appeared between his brows, his gaze whispered over her face again, then back to her eyes. Vicki held her breath; her heart thundering so hard in her chest she was sure he could hear it.

When he spoke, his deep voice vibrated the air and resonated through every cell in her body, "What is it you want from me?"

When her disobedient gaze immediately dropped to his mouth, she forced it back up to tangle with his while she racked her brain for an answer. Her body apparently had one, but since that wasn't an option she could live with without some kind of an emotional connection, she ignored it.

"I won't watch you die." She told him.

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me." He replied.

"Like you sacrificed yourself the minute you put on that suit?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Yes it is, Bruce." How could he not know that?

"I won't let anyone else get hurt because of the choices I've made."

"Careful..." She whispered, her heart twisting in her chest, "It might sound like you care..."

Bruce shook his head, his thumbs moving against her skin again before he let go and stood tall, "It's not about caring. It's about lowering the odds."

When he turned away, her feet followed him, "So you shut everyone out. Even those who might help you to lower the odds."

"I learned my lesson the hard way." He kept on walking. Heading towards the part of the cave where the suit was stored.

"Is this what Rachel would have wanted for you?"

He stilled. Stood taller than before.

Vicki ignored the warning signs and did what she had so often done in her younger days: She pushed instead of leaving it alone, "How would she feel if she knew you were being consumed by Batman? What happens if there comes a day when you can't live without him? Would she want that for you? What would she say?"

Like always, when she crossed the line, and knew she'd crossed a line, there was a moment when time seemed to stand still and she felt the unbearable weight of her words pressing down on her. She had no right to push him on something so raw. But the fact he hadn't moved, or turned to yell at her or -

"You don't know anything about her."

Braving another step closer, Vicki lowered her voice, "I'd like to."

When he looked over his shoulder, she stopped, the dullness in his voice sending a chill down her spine, "You're too late."

The words felt fatalistic. Then he continued walking away, leaving Vicki standing alone in the center of the platform; watching the distance between them widen again. When he stopped, she held her breath.

"She would have waited."

It was said in such a low voice she barely heard it.

"You asked what she would say." Bruce didn't turn to look at her, his voice dull, as if he didn't feel anything any more, "She said she would wait. Then she was dead."

"It wasn't your fault." Vicki knew that instinctively. He would never have put the woman he loved in danger. And he had loved her. Been _in love_ with her. Vicki knew that now.

"I made a choice. Now I'm making another one. Don't heal me again. I'm not letting anyone else die for me. Even temporarily. I got shot because I made a mistake. I won't make the same mistake again. It's how we learn. By falling."

Because by falling, everyone learned how to pick themselves up again. Vicki knew the saying. She believed it. But it was supposed to be a message of hope, not a reason to shut everyone out when things went wrong. If Rachel was alive she would tell him that, wouldn't she? Any woman who loved a man enough to wait for him would. Vicki could almost feel her in the cave. She was a ghost at his shoulder. If she'd been there Vicki would have had so many questions for her. One of the most important being: Why wait? If she'd loved him as much as he loved her...

If he hadn't understood or had disagreed with her reason for waiting, Bruce would have done everything in his power to change her mind, wouldn't he? Now that she was dead, it raised her to an untouchable level. He wouldn't let anyone disagree with the decision she'd made. No-one else had the history with him Rachel had, would ever know him the way she had, could have a before-and-after to compare so they understood him like she had. And even if Vicki had thought there was the remotest chance – given time – that Bruce might talk about her, he nailed the door shut by adding;

"Don't ever say her name again."

There was no competing with a ghost. She was the woman every other woman would have to compete with, even if she held out the hand of friendship. Vicki continued standing in the center of the platform, looking around her, wondering what she was doing there. Why was she staying? Was there any point in continuing to fight him? He'd made it clear from the beginning he didn't want her there. He'd backed her into a corner so that she was trapped in a living environment where there was only one escape. Not content with that, he'd made her position at the Gazette untenable; despite the reassurances of her editor and the lack of a confrontation with Knox because he'd been out on assignment. Now he'd firmly closed the door on her ability to help him if he was hurt and made it plain there wasn't any chance of so much as a tentative friendship; even though they'd worked pretty well together for a handful of hours. There was no reason for her to stay. Maybe it was time she accepted that and moved on. Another city, another chapter of her life. If Lex could find her in Gotham there was just as good a chance he could find her somewhere else. So why was she waiting? One call to Oliver would do it. And then she would never have to see Bruce Wayne again.

Just one call.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

_Gotham Gazette Offices – Morning._

"Don't."

Having been rebuffed by one word and a scowl before she'd managed to open her mouth, Vicki followed on his heels as Knox turned and strode back across the bullpen towards his desk.

"I didn't know till it was a done deal," she said when she caught up with him.

"Sure you didn't."

"Why would I keep it secret?"

"Used to be a time I thought I knew you." Knox grabbed a file from his desk, checked the contents with a tilt of his head, then closed it and slapped it off his palm before looking at her from the corner of his eye, "Now? Not so much. But if I had to guess? I'd say you've made it clear where your loyalties lie. You can tell your boyfriend this isn't the only paper in the world..."

Vicki's eyes widened as he added; "I won't work somewhere where freedom of the press means squat to the man currently one step closer to holding the monopoly on newspapers in this town. So if he thinks I'm done with that little exclusive I've been chasing? He's wrong."

Of all the varying scenarios she'd run through her mind when it came to Knox's reaction to the take-over, quitting had – well – it hadn't even made it to the list. Probably because she'd compared what he would do to what she would do if she was in the same situation. From Knox's point of view, it probably wasn't all that different to how she had felt when Lex Luthor had owned the Daily Planet and Chloe Sullivan had been an intern there. She could have quit and walked away. She could have worked freelance or tried for a position at another paper. But not only was she in the perfect place to keep her ear to the ground, quitting would have meant he'd won, and she would never allow him that, not even back then. In the end he'd had to find a reason to fire her.

Knox looked her over when she didn't respond to his words, then shook his head, "What are you doing here anyway? You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He folded his arms; the folder dangling from his fingertips, "When's the last time you handed in an article?"

"I did that piece last week on reactions to the return of the Joker." She answered, somewhat irritated by the defensive tone to her voice.

"Uh-huh," Knox nodded sagely, "And tell me – did you leave the Wayne Mansion to get those quotes? 'Cos I couldn't help but notice those were stock photos we ran with it, so you obviously didn't use your camera. I can remember a time when Vicki Vale considered investigative journalism to mean actually leaving the house to do the investigating part. It used to be the part she liked best. Got her blood pumping. Any time, any place, and more importantly, anywhere. Dialling it in was never your style."

The sarcasm wasn't wasted on her. What was worse was she didn't have a comeback for him. Because he was right. There wasn't anything he'd said to her that she wouldn't have said to him if their situations had been reversed. Not that Knox was Bruce Wayne's' type to begin with, but -

"Vale!"

The sound of their editor's voice yelling over the cacophony of noise in the bullpen, drew her attention away from Knox, "Yes, Chief?"

"Charity Circus event. You're on it since you're gonna be there."

When a dour faced Miranda appeared at his shoulder long enough to aim a glare in her direction, Vicki knew she wasn't the only one unhappy with the assignment, "I don't know the people who'll be there the way Miranda -"

"Miranda will cover the basics;who's there, what label they're wearing, all the usual nonsense folks who read the society pages find interesting. What I want from you is the inside stuff; the kind of thing people will talk about with their own kind but don't want the rest of the world to know."

Vicki blinked incredulously. He had to be kidding. She was an investigative journalist, not a gossip-monger! Not that Miranda was a gossip-monger either. She aimed a pained look of apology at the older woman. Miranda was respected among Gotham High Society for her tact. It was her ability to understand what could be considered interesting items of news, while respecting what could potentially prove irreparably damaging to people's private lives, that allowed her to mingle with the upper echelons to do her job. Heck, there were even people who brought her exclusives because being featured in the Gazette's society pages had become a kind of status symbol. Miranda was practically the modern day Hedda Hopper of Gotham City. Whereas Vicki Vale...

She stepped closer to her editor, "Chief, they know I'm an investigative reporter – they're not going to trust me. It's too soon. And if I publish something someone doesn't want printed -"

"Which is why you'll run everything past Miranda first. You report to her now." He took something a passing Intern handed to him, glancing down at it before looking over her shoulder, "Knox. Why can I still see you? I thought I sent you to follow up on that murder at Dixon Dock?"

"I'm on it." Knox replied from behind her.

Vicki was frowning, "You're moving me to the Society pages?"

"Use your contact with Gotham P.D. to find out about that weird note on the body we heard about. I want the words – or better still a picture of it," He barked at Knox, before looking at her again. "You take the assignments you're given like everyone else who works here. You got a problem with that?"

She knew precisely what he was asking. Bruce may have thought he'd cleared things with her editor when it came to the article she was supposedly writing about him but the simple fact was the Chief didn't like being told what to do. By giving her an assignment he knew she wouldn't like – one that basically amounted to a demotion from her usual position – he was re-claiming control and making a statement in front of the rest of his staff. He could assign her wherever he wanted. She was either a team player or she wasn't. It all hinged on the decision she made in the next five seconds.

So she lied through her teeth; "No, Chief. I don't have a problem with that."

He nodded brusquely, "There'll be a staff photographer there. Miranda will give you the names of her contacts."

Vicki grimaced inwardly. Not only was she landed with an assignment she didn't want - one that would make her the equivalent of a spy in Gotham High Society's midst – she'd been proven right about her position at the Gazette being untenable. Never mind the fact her work wouldn't be taken seriously, it was now more than clear her fellow workmates resented her relationship with the new owner. It was a domino effect. Her editor-in-chief didn't appreciate the fact she could go over his head if she chose to, so he'd handed her an assignment that would test her loyalty while usurping another editor's position. And Knox-

She turned around in time to see his disappointment in her radiating from his rangy body as he gathered together his things and left to chase up the story he'd been assigned. One she'd have given her eye teeth for judging by the little she'd heard. Miranda aimed another glare at her as she walked past. When she looked at the Chief, he'd already moved on to yell at the next person on his list. It left her standing in the middle of the busy bullpen the same way she had on the platform in the cave the night before. Granted, there were more people this time, but she didn't feel any less alone than she had then. And she was left with the same thoughts: What was she doing here, why was she staying, what was the point in fighting? There was nothing left for her in Gotham.

So why hadn't she made the call?

Outside the Gazette building, bright sunshine forced her to squint to adjust her vision. She didn't focus on anything around her as she turned towards the small square of nearby green where she used to have lunch when she was in the office; her feet carrying her there on auto-pilot. It was only when she'd been sat on a bench for a long while, staring into the middle distance and turning her cellphone end-over-end in her hands, that she registered something outside of her private little bubble where everything seemed to be moving at a slower speed than the world around her. That something was a long, dark overcoat. And a hand holding the lid of a stainless steel flask towards her.

"Do you have some kind of in-built radar?" she asked.

"No, Miss. You just looked like you might need some."

Setting her cellphone in her lap, she accepted the small cup while Alfred sat down beside her. Breathing deep, she finally allowed her gaze to wander around their setting; the tall trees lining the park dwarfed by the high rise buildings that surrounded them, sunlight glittering off the hundreds of windows behind which thousands upon thousands of Gotham City workers and residents were going about their daily lives while, at ground level, smartly dressed office workers walked briskly past hot-dog vendors while tourists and parents with children took on the more sedate pace befitting such a beautiful day. There was something about Gotham she'd fallen head-over-heels in love with the very first day she laid eyes on it. She'd never stood still long enough to wonder what it was before. It was that old saying, wasn't it? You don't know what you've got till it's gone. Faced with losing her new life, it was only natural she would try to figure out what it was she loved most about it. Maybe then she could understand why it was taking so much effort to let it go...

"It's a beautiful city." Alfred said as if he'd read her mind.

"Yes, it is."

"Worth fighting for..."

"Yes." She smiled sadly.

They sat in a companionable silence for a while, watching the world go by. Then Vicki dropped her chin and looked down at the small cup cradled in her hands, her voice low and filled with resignation, "I'll miss it."

Lifting her chin again, she glanced sideways at Alfred, summoning another melancholy smile as she realized how fond of him she'd become in such a short amount of time. She would miss him too. Turning her head she looked across the park again; a light breeze lifting tendrils of her hair from her cheeks.

"Wouldn't have to if you stayed."

"No. But it wouldn't be the first time I've given up a life I love, Alfred. Maybe it'll get easier with practice..."

"Sometimes..." He leaned a little closer, "... easy is too simple..."

"That's true."

"Especially for someone who thrives on a challenge."

She wondered how he'd got the measure of her so fast. He was right. She'd never faced a problem she couldn't find a solution to if she set her mind to it. The more complicated it was, the better it felt when she figured it out or overcame it. Maybe that was part of the reason she was finding it so difficult to make the call to Oliver. It was the simple solution. A 'get-out-of-jail-free' card. There was no challenge involved. Everything would be done for her. Not that she wouldn't get to make decisions the way she had last time. Location, name, the job people would assume she did for a living; theywere herchoices. But just like last time the reason to leave would be taken out of her hands. And that was one of the hardest things to take.

Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, she tilted her head back and blinked to clear her vision. She was so very tired of running. Of not belonging anywhere. In the League she had a make-shift family, but it wasn't the same as having a family of her own. It might not have made sense considering her background - an only child raised by a single parent had never had that much of a family to begin with - but somewhere deep inside she must have had more of a hope for a place to belong than she'd realized. People she didn't have to hide anything from, or lie to, or keep her distance from for their own protection. Someone she could love unconditionally who loved her the same way in return. Maybe even the possibility of children... some day...

_Man_. When she held a pity party she really went to town on it, didn't she? She was hardly car pool Mom material, but the simple fact was she'd never expected to end up so alone either. Did anyone? That was the thing, she supposed. When it came down to it everyone was alone. In Gotham she'd finally had a life of her own again, one she lived on her own terms. A place to call home no matter where her work sent her. She shook her head. Oh well. C'est la vie.

It was only when she lowered her chin again and found a pristine white cotton handkerchief waiting for her that she realized her cheeks were wet. Lifting a hand to swipe the lines of moisture away, she shook her head and forced a smile of gratitude for Alfred, "I'm good." She rolled her eyes as the lie slipped off the tip of her tongue, "Okay. I'm not. But it's a moment of weakness. It'll pass."

"You don't want to leave."

"I'm not finding it easy, let's put it that way. But I don't really have a choice, Alfred."

"Everyone has choices, Miss." He pushed the handkerchief into one of his magic pockets, "Life is full of them. Seems to me you've already made yours. The difficulty is admitting it to yourself. And accepting why you've made it."

"You've lost me."

"Oh, I doubt that." He smiled one of the secretive smiles that sparkled in the pale blue of his eyes, "I wouldn't throw in the towel just yet, Miss. Things are seldom as bad as they seem when we're feeling low. It's what we do when the moment has passed that can make the difference."

"The only way is up? It's always darkest before the dawn? That kind of thing?"

"Precisely, Miss."

A more genuine smile crept across her lips, "Is this how you give advice to Bruce?"

"I find blunt works better with Master Bruce. He thinks about things entirely too much for his own good as it is. Given the time to get to know him, people understand that."

_If he let them have that time_. But Vicki didn't say that. Instead she looked forwards again and lifted the small cup to her mouth to sip the aromatic blend she would forever associate with Alfred and her time at Wayne Manor.

"I read an early article of yours in the Gazette."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, "Which one?"

"It was a follow up on public opinion about the Joker's first visit to Gotham."

Ahhh, that one. It was the article that got her the job at the Gazette.

"I'm curious..."

Vicki lifted a brow in question.

So he continued, "How did you know?"

The article had summed up with the speculation that Batman wasn't the murderous vigilante the majority of people believed he was after Harvey Dent's death. It had garnered more than a little debate at the time. Especially when every other newspaper had been determined he was guilty until proven innocent. Vicki Vale's first feature for the Gazette had taken a different angle. A more balanced view, she liked to think. So she knew what Alfred was asking her. And she knew the answer to his question.

"Fifty people."

The fifty people the Joker took from the hospital and disguised as his own men while they posed as the hostages. SWAT teams entering the building didn't know that at the time, but somehow Batman did. He'd saved all of them, and managed to stop the cops from opening fire at the wrong people. Granted, he'd left several officers bruised and battered - and in some cases hanging off the side of the building in the equivalent of a SWAT team daisy-chain - but no-one had died. Not even the Joker. Batman had left him hanging upside down from the top of the building, where the authorities could find him. Somehow those details seemed to have disappeared in the furore over Harvey Dent's death and the accusation Batman had murdered him in cold blood. Vicki liked to think she'd merely pointed out the facts.

Taking a deep breath, she elaborated, "I didn't have proof he was fighting for the good guys. And there have been times when it's looked like he wasn't. But back then fifty people were enough proof for me. No matter what everyone else said, I thought he deserved the benefit of the doubt..."

"It wasn't a popular opinion."

"It still isn't."

"But you championed him regardless. Even though standing out from the crowd might have brought unwelcome attention your way..."

"I just reported the facts, Alfred." But he was right. It had been a risky move. And the reason for a very long and heated conversation with Oliver. One that led her to back off the trail of Batman, even though every bone in her journalistic body had cried out for her to chase the hottest story in town. Instead she'd watched, listened, read, done a little snooping on the down-low and remained unconvinced that Batman was the demon people liked to think he was. It was why she'd played devil's advocate with Knox when he started investigating. When there had been hints Bruce Wayne might be Batman, it was a whole new ballgame.

"Gut instinct had something to do with it," Alfred said.

Vicki nodded, "Yeah. I suppose it did."

"You knew. Sought the proof to back up your belief."

"It's kinda what I do, Alfred."

When she added a wink, Alfred smiled at her and reached out a hand to take her empty cup, "What does your gut instinct tell you now?"

There was a brief pause. Then, exhaling a soft burst of laughter, Vicki realized what he'd done, "It's telling me I'm not ready to leave yet. Is that what you're fishing for?"

"Why do you think that might be?" He wiped the inside of the lid before screwing it back on the flask.

When the answer came, it wasn't one she could bring herself to say out loud. The look on her face must have been enough, because Alfred nodded – just the once – then stood up and held out a hand to help her to her feet, "Shall we go and collect your dress, Miss?"

Vicki slipped her hand into his, "We shall."

Before they moved away, she gave in to the impulse to slip her arms around his waist; her cheek pressed against the soft wool of his long overcoat, "Thank you, Alfred."

"You're very welcome, Miss."

Leaning back against the fatherly arms that encircled her, she lifted her chin and smiled up at him, "I'm never gonna be able to get you to stop calling me that, am I?"

Alfred patted her back and released her, "We all have our place in the world. We just have to lay claim to it when we find it."

Which was Alfred's way of saying he owned his role and was perfectly happy with it. Vicki couldn't help but smile at that. She doubted very much anyone could have worn it as well as he did. As they turned to walk out of the park, she linked her arm through his; her footsteps lighter than before. He hadn't handed her the solutions to her problems, but she loved him for that. What he'd done was talk her back from the edge of making a decision she knew she'd have regretted in the long term. Or at the very least questioned. The answer to why she couldn't make that call _was _simple when it came down to it. She wasn't done yet. Something had made her choose Gotham on the map. There was a reason why she'd fallen in love with the city the way she had. Alfred was right; some things were worth fighting for. And Vicki Vale wasn't a quitter. All she had to do was discover the answer to a potted version of the great question everyone asked at some point in their life, and had done since the beginning of time: _Why am I here?_

The only way to answer that question was to stay and find out.

_Wayne Manor – Late Afternoon/Early Evening._

Wiping the sweat from his brow with the corner of the towel resting over his shoulders, Bruce walked into the kitchen in search of another bottle of water. He'd spent the morning in the city at varying meetings, but after a chance sighting of Alfred and Vicki in a park near the Gazette, he'd been restless again, so had spent the afternoon in the Gym at the house to work it off. It had been a while since he'd put his body through the kind of workout he'd completed. But it was good to know his muscle memory was still intact after the varying degrees of punishment he put his body through as Batman.

Alfred glanced up from the stove as Bruce yanked open the refrigerator door and reached inside, "Worked it out of our system have we?"

"What 'it' would that be, Alfred?" Unscrewing the lid of the bottle, he tilted it to his mouth and took several cool gulps before swiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking at the older man.

"Whatever it is that's had you in such a foul mood since last night..." He continued stirring whatever it was he had in a brass pan on the burner, "I'd have thought your nightly workouts were more than enough to keep anyone fit."

"I'm going to take a shower."

"The rest of the household certainly appreciate the gesture." Bruce had barely had time to turn away before he added; "And I'm sure you'll be glad to hear Miss Vicki has reconsidered her decision to leave."

Bruce frowned, "Where did she think she was going?"

"I thought getting her to leave Gotham was the plan."

The fact she'd decided to leave surprised him. Why now, when she'd been so determined she wasn't going anywhere? And when, somewhat ironically, he'd decided she wasn't leaving until Luthor was back in prison. The part of him that said it would be better she left warred with the part that had made the decision to protect her. At least while she was under his roof he knew she was safe. Then he thought about how upset she'd looked in the park, "What happened at the Gazette?"

"She didn't say."

Something had happened. He wondered if she'd had a run in with Knox. If she had then Bruce needed to know.

"Might help if someone closer to home didn't continue making her life difficult."

Bruce frowned harder, turning his head to look over his shoulder, "You're saying she was leaving because of me."

"That's the problem with pushing people away. They have a tendency to leave."

"She's not going anywhere until I say so." Bruce stated adamantly.

"Well then, it's lucky for her she decided to stay, isn't it?"

Not for the first time since she'd appeared in his life, Bruce had the distinct feeling he was being left out of the loop. Alfred's judgement of character was impeccable, Bruce had trusted it many times in the past and would again, without a shadow of a doubt. Vicki would hardly be the first person he'd taken under his wing, but – somewhat irrationally – Bruce didn't like that he seemed to be acting as Vicki's defender. She didn't need anyone to defend her. She was more than capable of standing her ground. Bruce respected that right along with her obvious intelligence, even if admitting she could take care of herself made his decision to protect her seem somewhat redundant.

"Alfred, have you seen Bruce?" Vicki careened into the room, her gaze crashing into his as she practically screeched to a halt and a flush of color tinged her cheeks, "_Oh_."

Bruce stood his ground as her gaze swept over him from head to toe, his physical awareness of everywhere that gaze touched not improving his mood any. He saw her look down at the cellphone in her hands. She frowned, shifted her weight from one foot to another, swallowed, damped her lips....

And he found himself taking an involuntary step forwards, "What's wrong?"

Long lashes lifted, her gaze meeting his for a split second before flickering away and back again, "I..." She pressed her lips together, "I need to ask you something..."

"You can ask me in front of Alfred."

"I know." She tossed a brief smile over his shoulder at the older man, her eyes softening to mossy green with affection, "It's not that. It's... well..."

Bruce raised his brows.

Vicki chewed on the corner of her lower lip for a second. Then she held the phone up, "I got a call from Clark."

"There's a problem?"

"No. Well, yes, but not the kind of problem you mean. I need -" She frowned again, "- the okay from you for him to bring someone to see me. It's important."

When she thought about what she'd said, she frowned harder; her gaze lowering to the phone again then back to his face as she shifted position into a more defensive stance. Her chin lifted defiantly, "If you're not happy with her coming here then I need to get to somewhere he can bring her to see me."

"Who?"

Vicki grimaced, her gaze shifting from one random point in the kitchen to another while she debated telling him the answer. Then she took a deep breath that lifted her small breasts below her figure hugging sweater and looked him directly in the eye, "My cousin. The only family I have left," She angled her head, "pretty much. I haven't seen her since -"

"The Luthor trial." Bruce stared back at her, "You're witness number 58874."

Her eyes widened, "How do you know that?"

"I did some digging. I think we both know you'd have done the same thing if the situation was reversed," he turned the half-empty bottle of water in his hands while using the same reasoning she had with him not so long ago. "58874 was placed in witness protection. Lois Lane gave testimony in open court. She's a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. As in the partnership of Lane and _Kent_, I believe. The Clark Kent _you _grew up with..."

"The court transcripts are sealed for witness 58874." She told him in a deathly cold voice, her eyes lacking any hint of emotion.

Bruce nodded, "I know. They're proving difficult to get hold of, but there was enough for me to put some of the pieces together."

"You could have asked."

Turning, he set the water bottle down on the edge of the long table in the center of the room, "She doesn't know where you are."

"No. We agreed it would be better if she didn't."

"In case Luthor uses her to get to you."

A slight flicker of her lashes and the change in her breathing was enough of a hint of emotional response to break the façade Bruce suspected she'd had to practice hard over the years to maintain, "Yes."

"She chose not to follow you into Witness Protection. He can find her any time he wants."

"You're not going to stop me from seeing her, Bruce." Vicki shook her head as she took a step closer and green fire flamed in her eyes, "She needs me. And I need to see her. So if you don't want her to come here -"

Bruce purposefully kept his voice low and calm, "Tell me what happened."

She took a shaky breath, lower lip trembling as she inhaled so he knew what it was costing her to hold it together. By the time her gaze met his, it was shimmering with the emotions she wasn't able to hide any more, "He tried to kill her."

"Alfred, could you make Vicki some tea?" Pushing to his feet, he took one long stride to get to her before cupping her elbow in his hand and steering her towards the table; his free hand reaching for one of the chairs and drawing it out from the edge, "Sit down."

"I told Clark I'd call him right back. He's wait-"

"Sit." Bruce inclined his head towards the chair while continuing to look into her eyes, keeping his voice as calm as before but with enough of an edge for her to know he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, "First you're going to fill in the gaps. Then we'll discuss it."

She jerked her elbow free and scowled, "You can't stop me from seeing her."

"If I think there's the remotest chance it's a trap, yes I can." He aimed a look of warning her way, "If you won't worry for yourself, think about her."

She sat down.

Grabbing the nearest available chair, he set it at right angles to hers and joined her; resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned closer and waited for her to look at him, "Now tell me what Kent told you."

For a moment he thought she would argue with him again, her gaze straying to the phone she was still holding in her hands. Then she took a short breath, "Lois was investigating Vincent Winneger; a scientist who worked for Lex." She smiled wryly, "Wouldn't be the first time we've investigated the same thing at the same time without knowing we were doing it. He had notebooks from the time he worked on the cloning program. While she was hiding in his apartment he was murdered and she saw the man who did it. Except the man who did it then changed into someone else."

Alfred set a cup and saucer in front of her and moved away while Bruce waited for her to continue.

"There was someone impersonating Superman in Metropolis at the same time, and -"

Bruce ran through the meta-human information he had in his head; "Another clone. A shape-shifter."

Given the right time, he might have been vaguely amused at how easily he said the words - as if they'd been an accepted part of his daily life for a lot longer than they actually had - but now wasn't that time.

She nodded, "Yes. It wasn't even a man. Clark stopped her before..."

The words disappeared into silence. She couldn't bring herself to say it twice.

"But your cousin is all right." Without breaking Vicki's gaze, he reached out a hand and pushed the cup and saucer towards Alfred as he appeared with a teapot.

"Yes. A little more shaken up than she's admitting to Clark says, but that's Lois all over."

While Vicki took the time to smile shakily at Alfred as he poured her tea, Bruce weighed up the pro's and con's of allowing Kent to bring her cousin to the manor. He didn't like it, "You know Luthor could be doing this to flush you into the open."

"If _I _went to _her_; yes. But he wouldn't be flushing me into the open if Clark brings _her _to _me_." Vicki argued, "He can't track Superman."

Meaning Kent planned on bringing her there as his alter ego. Bruce narrowed his eyes, "She knows who he is?"

"No." She shook her head, "She's never known. It's something else you and Clark have in common. Forming an attachment can prove a weakness when the battle is fought, or something along those lines. It's better if people don't know your secret. They're safer that should do lunch some time to compare notes..."

Bruce chose to ignore the sarcasm he knew was a knee-jerk reaction due to her emotional state. She'd just been told someone had tried to kill a person she loved: The only family she had left. It was understandable. Bruce understood it better than most. But as much as she needed to see her cousin -

When he leaned back in his chair and breathed deep, Vicki read his body language, "I mean it, Bruce. I'm going to see her. Right now she's upset and Superman has left her to call me so he can arrange to bring her to me. This is your house. It's basic good manners to ask permission to bring her here. But whether you're happy about it or not, I'm going to see her. If I have to pack my bags and leave Gotham first thing in the morning to make you happy then fine, I'll go. But not without seeing my cousin first. I'll walk to the city if I have to."

When she pushed back from the table, he leaned forwards and captured her wrists on the arms of the chair; "You're not going anywhere. I haven't said you couldn't see her."

Confusion clouded her eyes.

"I'm not happy about it. But from what I know of you, you'll find a way of doing it regardless of what I think."

"Yes," she nodded. "I will."

The words were said with equal determination to his, but her shoulders relaxed and she didn't try to free her wrists. It was a concession on her part, not a surrender, Bruce understood that, but he frowned as he let go. He'd meant what he said about not being happy. Every instinct he possessed warned him of the risks involved with allowing her cousin to come to their location. The woman was out in the open. Had made herself a target. Luthor had already made an attempt on her life so he knew where she was and had been able to get to her, despite Kent's proximity. Judging by what he'd read of the newspaper reports around the time of the trial, and Vicki's reaction to what had just happened, the cousins were close. It made sense that Luthor would use that attachment to his advantage. But if Vicki was determined to see her cousin...

"He brings her here when it's dark," Bruce said. "Takes a long, scenic route to disorientate her. No landmarks. Tell him to come in over the forests at the back of the house. You stick to one room in the house. Don't answer any questions about where you are. If she asks, you -"

"She won't." Vicki said in a soft voice as a smile formed in her eyes and lit her up from inside, "We both know the drill."

Bruce still didn't like it, even when faced with the same smile he'd seen her give Alfred in the park. The one that, in a moment of rare weakness, had left him wondering what it would feel like to have her smile at him that way.

Dislodging the thoughts with a shake of his head he told her; "Make the call."

Vicki angled her head and studied him for a second; curiosity and an obvious lack of understanding jostling for position in her expressive eyes. Now that he'd given his permission she was questioning it? Bruce cocked a brow. She was pushing her luck. If he was in her shoes he'd run with it before he changed his mind and locked her away somewhere she wouldn't be able to run off and see her cousin behind his back.

"Thank you."

The soft tone of the heartfelt words didn't help his rising sense of unease. But it was too late, she was already dialling the number as she got to her feet; a bright, sparkle eyed smile forcing Bruce out of his chair at the same time so he could get as far away from her as possible before he gave in to the need to toss her over his shoulder and lock her away. He looked over his shoulder at the doorway. Alfred nodded in reply. Judging by his expression he approved of the decision. But it still didn't make Bruce feel any better about it. Or the fact he felt the need to protect her more strongly and viscerally than before.

'_Don't get attached to me_.' That's what he'd told her when she'd pushed him on the subject that was still so raw. He'd reacted badly to talking about Rachel. He knew that. It was the first time anyone had talked to him about her since the rainy day of her funeral, when he'd stood over the hole in the ground long after everyone had left; the small arrowhead he'd given her as a gift when he was a child – the one she'd returned to him as an adult so he knew she still cared – pressed so tightly into his palm that it drew blood before he reached out and let it fall and disappear into the petals of the flowers sitting on her coffin.

Once he'd had time to think clearly, he knew Vicki hadn't deserved the reaction she'd got from him. It wasn't her fault he'd been so haunted in his dreams since the reappearance of the Joker. Or that she'd been taunting him in those dreams alongside everyone else with the temptation of something he'd allready been denied and could never have while Batman stalked the streets of Gotham. She was simply doing what she did with all the members of her team, what she'd done with him before he had known who she was; showing she cared. It was probably part of the reason she was good at her job, he knew that too, but it had angered him unreasonably at the time. He didn't want to be treated the same way as everyone else she cared about as part of her job. He sure as hell didn't want to be mothered by her or treated like some kind of friend. It made him think about what exactly it was he _did _want. Something he'd been avoiding thinking about since he met her, if he was honest with himself.

The truth was it had been easier with an anonymous voice. There was less risk involved. No cost for him on a personal level if anything happened to her. An anonymous voice wouldn't look into his eyes the way Vicki did, wouldn't reach out to a part of him he'd shut off the day Rachel died or make him look at what he'd become since he lost that part of himself and denied it's existence. The voice on its own may have made him feel less alone for a few brief moments of make-believe – something he'd never felt the need to succumb to since childhood - but when that voice was accompanied by hypnotically expressive eyes, fragile beauty and the willingness to lay down her life for his, even temporarily and no matter what he said to let her know he didn't welcome the sacrifice... _Give him strength_... It would be all too easy to make the same mistake he'd made before. To allow her to get attached to him. Worse than that: To do everything in his power to _make her_ get attached to him.

Forgoing a shower, he headed straight for the cave and the suit as the same sense of dangerous restlessness he'd felt when he left her in the cave the night before threatened to overpower him. He felt sorry for anyone who would cross Batman's path that night. He prayed it would be the Joker. No-one would be more deserving of his wrath. Forming an attachment could prove a weakness when the battle was eventually fought; that's what Vicki had said. And she was right. If it was what Kent believed then it was one of the few things they had in common beyond dual identities. Rachel had been Bruce's weakness and it had cost more than one life in the end. Bruce couldn't – he _wouldn't_ – allow himself to have a weakness like that again. No matter how much he wanted, or was drawn to, or craved the kind of warmth offered by getting lost in the feminine softness Vicki -

Bruce clenched his jaw so tight his teeth hurt. He should have locked her in that damn room and thrown away the key. That way he'd know she was safe. Not just from Luthor. _From him_. And every part of him that was raging at the choices he'd made along the way. In a perfect world she would have been exactly the kind of woman he'd have been attracted to; not the vacuous arm candy playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne allowed the world to believe he was interested in. At times she reminded him of Rachel. Not because they looked the same, but because they represented the same damn thing: What he'd given up. He hated her for that. Wanted her as far away from him as possible while at the same time feeling the urgent need to lock her away and keep her safe. He didn't want her in Gotham but couldn't allow her to leave. He'd felt relieved when Alfred said she'd decided to stay. _Relieved_. As if she'd stayed _for him_.

What the hell was wrong with him?!

Vicki paced the floor in the study, her heart racing with the anticipation of seeing her cousin face-to-face for the first time in years. And at a time when she needed to see her as much as Clark believed Lois needed to see Chloe. Would she be different from the Lois she remembered? Would Lois think Vicki had changed? No. Scratch that. She couldn't think of herself as Vicki when Lois was there. Lois would be the first person to call her Chloe without being corrected since Chloe Sullivan 'died'. For just a little while they could be Chlo and Lo again. The way they used to be when they were little girls talking about what they'd be when they grew up and the men they would marry.

Taking a shaky breath, Chloe forced the tangled emotions out of her cramped chest and down into the place deeper inside her body where she kept them hidden. Bruce couldn't possibly know what it meant for her to see Lois again. She meant what she'd said. There was no way he was stopping her from seeing her cousin when her cousin needed her. No-one who hadn't seen them together or knew their history could understand the bond they shared or how much Chloe had missed it. On the one hand, she hated that she had to ask for permission to see her cousin, but on the other she was glad he'd allowed it to happen. For a split second it had felt like he understood what it meant and wanted to give it to her to make her happy. It was a ridiculous thought, completely unfounded, but it had softened her towards him. Her thank you had been genuine. Heartfelt. Even if he'd dismissed it without so much as a nod of his head in reply. He didn't give a damn what it meant to her. It had suited him. He'd laid down the law and given her guidelines to stick by so he couldn't be held accountable if anything happened as a result of Lois' visit. He'd fulfilled the promise he'd made to Oliver to look out for her and, at the same time, made it plain she was still under house-arrest. It was that simple. She just needed to accept that she meant nothing to him beyond a responsibility he hadn't wanted in the first place. The sooner she accepted that – and could get rid of the mental image of him all sweaty and mussy haired in a muscle hugging vest top and dark sweats that had been stuck in her head ever since she laid eyes on him in the kitchen – the better it would be for her peace of mind.

When she thought she heard a noise from outside, she froze; her gaze locked on the long drapes whispering in the night air. Her breath caught, eyes widening and blinking incredulously at what they saw. Well now. _That _was interesting.

A long red cape waved weightlessly behind him as Superman floated onto the balcony, his gaze focussing on the face of the woman in his arms as he soundlessly landed. A slow smile curled his mouth as the woman watched him, mesmerized, and then he spoke in a deep voice to tell her; "We're here."

Lois blinked at him as Chloe bit her lip.

"Where?" Lois asked. Turning her head as she stepped off his feet, she took in what little she could see in the darkness outside before looking inside the room; his arms loosening to allow her to step free while her breath caught and her eyes widened. "Oh my god." She exhaled the words then cried out, "_Chloe_!"

They met halfway; throwing themselves into a tight hug filled with tears and laughter, Chloe grinning in a way it felt she hadn't done in such a very long time as Lois leaned back to look at her. She hadn't changed. She was still Lois.

"Hey cuz." Chloe's cheeks were as damp as Lois', but she didn't care.

Lois laughed again, hiccuping on a sob that became another soft burst of laughter, "Hey. God, I've missed you!"

"Me too. I'm so glad you're here."

Leaning back a little, Lois turned her face towards the open doors and the silent man who stood on the balcony. He had his hands on his hips, his cloak billowing behind him, the emblem on his chest worn with obvious pride. Chloe winked at him while Lois wasn't looking. _Go Clark_! Then she looked at her cousin's profile in time to see her whisper the words; "_Thank you_."

They were as heartfelt as Vicki's 'thank you' to Bruce, but received in a totally different way. Clark smiled a small, incredibly warm smile in reply – the kind of smile Chloe had once thought he would never smile at any woman whose name wasn't Lana Lang - before nodding, just the once, and telling her, "I'll be-"

"I know." Lois answered.

He glanced at Chloe, giving her a nod of acknowledgement she should have slapped him for. She wasn't supposed to know who he was. How exactly did Lois think he knew where to bring her? They should have had that conversation. But it was too late now, he was already lifting his arm and floating upwards, out of sight.

Chloe feigned nonchalance and blinked innocently at her cousin; "New friend?"

Lois positively glowed when she looked at her, "Pretty amazing, huh?"

"Hmm," Chloe stifled her laughter at Lois' reaction. But it wasn't easy, "Looks like we have a lot of catching up to do…"

Lois grinned, hugging Chloe tightly to her, her chin resting on her shoulder, "In a minute. Oh, Chlo – today just got so much better - you have no idea!"

Yes she did. She felt exactly the same way. And for just a little while she could forget about her own problems and focus on someone else...

_Gotham City – Night:_

Bruce sighed inwardly. Great. His day was getting better by the second.

"_Superman_."

"Quiet night?" He asked too cheerily for Bruce's liking considering the dry greeting he'd just received. Taking up position next to Batman on the top of the building, Kent folded his arms and looked out over the city as if he owned it.

"So far." Bruce replied without looking at him.

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Sporadically. He's playing a clever game." It occurred to Bruce he might not have meant the Joker, but it didn't matter; he'd have got the same response if it was Luthor they were talking about. People might have assumed the Joker was less capable of playing a clever game, designating him as nothing more than a psychopath, but they'd underestimate him at their cost. The Joker always had a plan. It involved chaos and death and fear and laughing manically as he watched the world burn, but there was always some kind of plan to achieve that end.

They continued staring over the city in what could never have been considered a comfortable silence from Bruce's point of view. The very fact the man was there to begin with rubbed him the wrong way: The _'I don't want any of your people in my city'_ part of his tentative alliance with the Justice League seemed to be the part they had the most difficulty with. When it came to the so-called 'shining symbol of hope' standing beside him, it wasn't that Bruce didn't respect what he'd achieved in his short time in the public eye. He did. Few members of the Justice League could go public the way Kent had. He was to Metropolis what Harvey Dent could have been for Gotham. Like Dent, he could stand in the light. Trouble was, if he 'turned' - like Dent - there was a danger he could forget his empathy for humanity, look down from above and see them as nothing more than insects he could crush with very little effort. Knowing that, Bruce was more than a little wary of Clark Kent. He'd even considered researching a few 'safeguards' in case the need arose. It was an additional burden on his time Bruce didn't need. He resented that almost as much as he resented the man's presence in Gotham.

Thanks to Vicki, Bruce had another reason to resent that presence. Because of Kent she was in more danger than she'd been a few hours ago. Even with his 'superpowers' he'd been unable to protect the woman he worked with on a daily basis. And now he'd brought that woman to the woman under _his _protection, living in _his _house, within the limits of the city _he _defended. If anything happened to Vicki as a result of that intrusion onto Bruce's territory...

"Vicki seemed thrilled with the idea of a visit from her cousin…" Bruce said, his tone making it plain he was none too happy about it.

"I should have thought of it earlier. They both needed it."

So much for making it plain. Bruce dropped his chin an inch, then lifted it, "Indeed. Well let's hope it wasn't a risky move – for either of them."

When another wave of anger washed over him, he clenched his jaw tighter in an attempt to control it before adding a gravelly voiced; "For our sakes too. As I was recently informed; forming an attachment can prove a weakness when the battle is eventually fought."

Maybe throwing his own words back in his face would make Kent realize the risk they were taking. The more he thought about it, the more Bruce regretted backing down and allowing it to happen. He'd done the same thing with Rachel. Trusted that others would look out for her. Let down his guard. The fact that Kent had already allowed Luthor to get close enough to make an attempt on Vicki's cousins life should have been all the proof he needed. Instead Bruce had ignored his instincts and now every bone in his body was screaming in protest at the decision. Knowing Alfred was there helped. But it wasn't enough. For the first time in a very long time he was tempted to leave the city unprotected during the dark hours, so he could triple check the security at the manor.

Queen's words rang in his ears while the city remained silent of alarms: _'He'll tear this place down brick by brick to get to her. And he won't come alone.' _

What if he was there now? Tearing down the manor brick by brick to get to her while Bruce wasn't there? Why was he so desperate to find her? What would he do to her when he did? What had he done the last time?

It was the last question he was having the most difficulty with. After his confrontation with Vicki in the cave, he'd patrolled the city well into the minutes before dawn; dealing with petty criminals and searching for any signs of the Joker. When he returned he was still restless, so he'd spent several hours researching the Luthor trial and Vicki's connection to it – picking up where he'd left off the last time he'd looked into her background. It hadn't taken long to figure out that witness 58874 was Vicki Vale. Some of the testimony from other witnesses in open court had led him to the Lois Lane connection. But it was the newspaper reports covering the trial that had given him the most pause for thought. Luthor had been convicted for crimes against humanity, the likes of which hadn't been seen since Josef Mengele from what Bruce could tell. He may not have been the one conducting the experiments as they ran, but he commissioned them, oversaw them and - if not present during the tests, which he frequently was according to eye-witness testimonials in exchange for immunity from prosecution - the results were reported to him in depth. He hadn't seen the subjects of his 'research' as human. As far as Luthor was concerned his clones were his creations. He gave them life, so he could take it away. Any suffering they endured was for the 'greater cause'. There was no doubting the man was clever beyond MENSA levels, but he was criminally insane. And he'd held witness 58874 in captivity for ninety-eight days. Ninety. Eight. Days.

When sirens sounded in the distance, Bruce welcomed them. It was precisely what he needed to focus his mind away from the horrors his imagination was creating in lieu of missing details.

"You want the one on the left or the one on the right?"

"Right." Without reminding Kent not to be seen, he dropped off the building and activated the memory cloth in his cloak to form a rigid glider. The man knew the rule by now. It had been succinctly discussed the first time they'd met and Kent knew Bruce wasn't backing down. The presence of Superman in Gotham undermined Batman's position. There would be questions about why Superman wasn't bringing the masked vigilante to justice. And Kent wasn't moving to Gotham any time in the near future so Bruce didn't give a damn if he could be there in milliseconds: It wasn't enough. But he would accept his assistance this time; begrudgingly. The sooner Batman got the most immediate job done, the sooner he could get back to Wayne Manor. Little did she know it, but Vicki was about to get herself a permanent shadow, whether she liked it or not. Bruce had learned to control his emotions before. He could do it again. Nothing was happening to her while she was under his protection. Once the Joker was dealt with, Bruce was going after Luthor. He was going to hunt him down. _His way_. Without any interference from the people who hadn't been able to protect Vicki last time.

_Wayne Manor – Same Time._

They sat side-by-side on a long sofa in front of the fire in Bruce's study – one of Vicki's favorite rooms in the large house - with Lois cross-legged and sitting sideways on the deep cushions while she cradled a mug of coffee in both hands and angled her head to look her cousin over, "That's quite the make-over the witness protection program gave you."

"Are we making a comment on my former Martha Stewart meets girl next door image?" The question was deliberately tongue-in-cheek, but Chloe lifted her chin and challenged her cousin to say a single bad thing about the way she looked. She knew she wouldn't. And not just because she had a confidence and acceptance of her own good points and bad that maturity had allowed her understand and learn to live with, or because she'd taken the time to freshen up and look her best for their reunion, but because she knew even if she'd looked her worst Lois would have been bluntly honest about it. The conversation wouldn't have started with a make-over comment. It would have started with something as subtle as, _'You look like hell.'_

Lois thrust out her lower lip, "Nope, it's more of a case of the green eyed monster when it comes to the designer label you're wearing…"

"This old thing?" Chloe batted her lashes.

Lois smiled from behind the rim of her cup as she looked around the large room with its wooden panelling and high ceiling, while Chloe admitted to herself how much she'd missed the nights when they would sit the way they were now; the two of them chatting as if they'd never been apart. Dressed in worn jeans and a huge comfy sweater with her hair bunched back in a loose pony tail, Lois didn't look a day older than she had when they'd last been together. The night they'd given the Witness Protection agent the slip and Lois had got Chloe so drunk she could barely remember her name. Not that it had taken much. Lois had been able to drink Marines under the table before she was legal; a result of her need to prove herself as tough as any of the men around her when she was growing up as an army brat. Chloe had often wondered if she did it because she felt her father, the three star General, would have preferred a son instead of two daughters. Lois would have denied it. But then the young Chloe Sullivan would have denied her need to figure everything and anything out as a way of proving to herself she had control of her mind in a way her mother hadn't - a moot point when she discovered the truth. Because her mother hadn't been crazy after all. She'd been in a mental institution because she was metahuman. Ironically, her only daughter had been what she'd denied she was afraid of: Exactly the same as her mother. The only difference was their abilities. All it had taken was a fork in the road. Life was like that, Chloe supposed with the wisdom of hindsight and experience. Back in 1989 her mother had decided to take a turn off the highway on the way home to Metropolis with her little girl. She'd wanted to stop somewhere for coffee. There had been a sign for a little town called Smallville...

"Quite the pad you have here too," Lois commented, "With a butler no less. Maybe I should have gone with the program…"

"Well it's not like we didn't try talking you into it."

"I wasn't giving him anything else, Chlo. Hiding you was more important," She shrugged a shoulder, "Wasn't me he wanted. I was a means to an end."

"And still are - you know that, don't you?" Chloe let the concern show on her face. It had been hard to ignore the bruising visible on Lois' throat above the loose turtle-neck of her sweater. The clone of Tina Greer had choked her until she'd passed out. If Clark hadn't been there...

Lois lifted her chin defiantly, "Hey, you know me, he could _try it_." When Chloe looked skeptical she smiled a softer smile and added, "And anyway – I have a bone fide superhero looking out for me these days."

"Yeah, I noticed that." She smiled at Lois' reaction to the man she didn't know was Clark Kent thanks to a little Queen Industries technology, "So where'd you find him?"

"We-lll, you know, I was just hanging around," She waved a hand in the air, "And he kinda popped up outta no-where."

"And you fell for him?"

"Literally," She sighed dramatically and laughed at the same time Chloe did, "I was falling out of a helicopter at the time. I'm not the only one he flies around saving, but he's…"

"He's?"

A rare flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks as she tried to shrug it off, "Well he is."

"Mmm-hmm, I _see_." Chloe stuck the end of her tongue into her cheek but couldn't keep a straight face for long, no matter how amusing it was to see her fiercely independent cousin so smitten by Clark Kent. She doubted she'd be that smitten if she knew who he was. Clark Kent the dorky, pain in the ass farmboy from Nowheresville? Oh, Lois. _If only you knew._ And what Chloe wouldn't give to have watched it happening. Because judging by Superman's reaction to the woman he'd flown to Gotham, Lois wasn't the only one with a bad case of smitten.

It did kinda beg the question; "And how's it going with your new partner?"

Lois grimaced, "Hmmm…"

Chloe knew that look, "That bad?"

"We had a fight today."

"About anything in particular or because it's what you always used to do and old habits die hard?" Turning on the deep cushions, she tucked one leg beneath her and studied her cuz more closely, "I can hardly remember a time when you two didn't fight. Or at least bounce off each other."

"Yeah, well, that was a long time ago," Lois took a sip of lukewarm coffee and looked around the room again.

They'd agreed within five minutes that the less Lois knew about where she was the better and Chloe knew Lois saw the wisdom in that as much as she did, even if they were Bruce's rules. What he didn't realize was they'd been living by those rules for years. Even if Lois had wanted to try and find her through the F.B.I.'s Witness Protection Program, she wouldn't have been able to. That one night they had given the agent to slip to say their goodbyes and go a little crazy, had been enough for Oliver to yank Chloe out of the program and into one the League had created. With her help, Chloe Sullivan didn't just disappear; she ceased to exist. If Bruce did get hold of the sealed testimony of witness number 58874, he wouldn't discover the name she'd been given at birth. It was a small consolation, but she took comfort from that. As if Bruce knowing her real name was the equivalent of the same weakness Rumpelstiltskin had with his real name...

"We've spent as many years apart as we did getting on each other's nerves." Lois added, making Chloe focus on what they were talking about instead of the man who refused to leave her thoughts. She blamed the fact they were sitting in his study. If she closed her eyes and breathed deep she could still detect the fresh, clean scent of his familiar, no doubt ridiculously expensive cologne, in the room. She even wondered briefly what Lois would think of him, and wished she could rant about all the things that annoyed her most. Lois would understand. She would probably offer to kick his ass.

When a small voice inside her said she would feel the need to defend some of his behaviour to save him from that fate, she ignored it and turned her attention to the kind of problems she might be able to do something about, "Is he different from you remember him?"

"I guess." Lois answered reluctantly, making it clear she didn't want to talk about Clark and turning her attention to something on the wall behind Chloe, "Is that a real Renoir over there?"

"Probably." Chloe sighed, then lowered her voice to the patient tone she'd always used when she needed to get through to her stubborn headed cousin, "If I tell you something about Clark that might help soften your opinion of him a little will you listen?"

The question brought Lois' gaze swiftly back to Chloe's face, a frown forming as she tried to decide whether or not she wanted to know anything that might soften her opinion, "Depends on what it is…"

If it had been anyone else Chloe would have let it be. Well, she'd have tried to. She wasn't exactly famous for her lack of interference when it came to the people she cared about. The thing was, she knew why Lois had hardened herself to Clark; why she was still mad at him after so many years. She also knew Clark, and why he hadn't been there; how, if he'd known, there wasn't anything on Earth or beyond that would have stopped him from being there. As far as Chloe was concerned, they'd suffered enough. All of them had. And if she could do one thing – just _one _– to help the two people she loved most in the world, then this was as good a time as any to do it. Clark probably wouldn't appreciate it. It was risky considering the investigative skills Lois had picked up over the years – as much to her own surprise as Chloe's when she'd never shown the same interest in journalism Chloe had growing up. Chloe wished she'd become passionate about it sooner. It was something else they could have shared when they were younger. Not that they needed anything to bring them closer than they already were, but if she'd known one day they would be forced apart and unable to talk to each other, share their lives and be there for each other -

She swallowed the lump in her throat, "I know why you're still mad at him, Lois. But I need you to let it go. For me."

"Chloe-"

"No." She reached out and grasped her cousins hand, squeezing it as she continued, "Listen to me. Heaven knows when we'll get a chance like this again."

A tell-tale shimmer glistened in Lois' eyes, "_Don't_."

Chloe blinked to clear her vision as she smiled at the woman who was closer to her than a sister, "Clark would have been there if he'd known. But he didn't know. How could he? Neither of us had told anyone else what we were investigating, had we? Not even each other. We did what we'd done plenty of times before and came at if from different angles. By the time we'd worked that out it was too late. We're both stubborn minded, independent women who thought we could take on Lex and win. And we _did win_, Lo..."

Her voice broke on the words, "No matter what it cost us, we won. You and me; _together_. Without help from anyone else. We took him down and put him behind bars where he belonged."

"We should have killed him."

"_No_!" Chloe was shocked by the words, "Don't say that. I know you don't mean it. If we'd done that neither of us could have lived with it. We'd have been no better than him. And then he'd have won. You know that. God – _Lois _– tell me you don't mean that!"

Lois looked away, a lone tear streaking unchecked down her cheek as she fought for the kind of control she always exerted in front of everyone else, "I want to mean it."

"No you don't you idiot. Don't make me kick your ass."

When Lois cocked an arched brow at her, they both laughed and then closed the gap between them; hugged each other tightly. When they parted Lois shook her head in disbelief, "Don't make me kick your ass? Who are you and what have you done with my cousin? It's like Invasion Of The Body Snatchers."

"Shut up." Chloe leaned back, swung her legs off the edge of the sofa and walked over to Bruce's desk to lift the small box of tissues she suspected Alfred had left there. Yanking a couple out of the top, she tossed the box at Lois on her way back; smiling as she reached up and caught it one handed.

"You know..." Lois looked up at her with the kind of gleam in her eyes that usually meant trouble, "... we could have been out adding to our tattoo collection again if we'd done this with alcohol..."

"Once was enough." she grimaced, "I had a hangover for a week."

"Worth it though." Lois smiled as Chloe sat down again.

"It was." Even if she was eternally thankful she'd managed to persuade Lois that less was more when it came to the genius idea they'd had about matching tattoos after one bottle of wine too many. She took a deep breath, "Now. _Clark_."

Lois rolled her head back and groaned, "Dammit. Do we have to?"

"If I know you, you've tried asking him why he left. And if you haven't, you're going to, right?"

She sighed heavily, "Already did."

"And?"

Allowing her head to roll forwards again, she looked her cousin in the eye, "I'm quite comfortable continuing to dislike him, you know. It's like having an old pair of really worn out slippers hanging around. They're familiar, may have their uses from time to time. You wouldn't wear them out in public. Sometimes you don't even want to look at them. But no matter how many times you toss them out they just keep turning up again - sometimes in the last place you expect to find them..."

"You done?" Chloe smirked, "'Cos I think we both know you're not fooling anyone in this room."

"See now, _that_?" Lois smirked back, "I can't say I've missed."

"You just hate that I remember how much you loved those bunny slippers you hung on to for so long. They were falling apart at the end and you still refused to let them go." Smiling at Lois' reaction, Chloe kept going before she could come up with a list of reasons why the analogy didn't work when it was used to point out something she didn't want to admit; whether she knew it yet or not, "Lemme guess. He didn't tell you why he left. He avoided the subject even though telling you might have helped. You're holding it against him. How am I doing?"

"As well as you always do, Sensei." Lois inclined her head, "Enlighten me with your wisdom."

Sarcasm meant she was hitting close to home, which convinced her she was right to take a chance and interfere. Chloe shook her head. Lois had always been her own worst enemy when it came to affairs of the heart. Thing was, underneath it all, she felt things as deeply as Clark did. She just hid it better. In some ways it reminded Vicki of Bruce. They'd both built impenetrable walls around themselves. With Lois the wall was made of bravado and sarcasm and the kind of brash exterior people either loved or hated. With Bruce the wall was made of an even tougher shield of deathly calmness and the refusal to depend on anything or anyone but himself that didn't allow any leeway when it came to understanding letting people close didn't automatically have to be a weakness – just the opposite in fact – it could be a strength. There was a middle ground to be found if he would just allow himself to explore it. Underneath it all he felt things deeply. Vicki knew he did. She could sense it in him. Had felt the pain he carried. The memory of it still made her ache.

"Chloe?" The concern in Lois' voice brought Chloe's gaze back to her face, "What is it?"

"Nothing." She smiled to reassure her, "I was just thinking about the different ways we all try to protect ourselves from pain. It's something we all do. But it can get in the way, Lois. It's not Clark you're angry at. I think you know that."

When Lois didn't deny it, she seized the opening and jumped on it, "You gotta let it go. You want to know why he left? I'll tell you why. Clark left because he found out about his birth parents in his teens. He did a lot of soul-searching before deciding whether or not he wanted to know anything about them. When he decided he did and he was ready to learn, he left. He had no way of knowing what would happen when he was gone. By the time he found out it was over. We'd got through it and survived. But Lois..."

She reached for her hand again and looked deep into her eyes, "We can't let what happened back then effect the rest of our lives. There has to come a time when we make another stand." She shook her head as she felt emotion building between them; feeling Lois' pain as if it were her own. Not because she was using her ability, but because Lois' pain was her pain and vice-versa. It's the way it had always been and always would, "We don't give Lex anything else Lois, you hear me? He's taken enough from us."

Lois nodded, "You're right." Then she rolled her eyes, "You always are. It's an annoying trait you share with Clark."

"I'll let you in on a secret," Chloe leaned closer and waited for Lois to do the same until their foreheads were almost touching. Then she whispered, "We're not always right."

"Good to know." Lois whispered back. "Because between you and me? It's a tad demoralizing."

"Just out of curiosity..." Chloe smiled as she leaned back, "Can you spell that word yet?"

"_Oh_. Funny girl."

Standing on the balcony an hour later, Vicki Vale watched as the two most important people in her life disappeared into the stars. It might not have made sense, but it didn't feel like she was saying goodbye to them. If anything, it felt like what was happening was bringing them together again. She'd been wrong when she was having her pity party not so many hours ago. She did have a family of her own. They would always be there when she needed them, just like she'd be there for them; no matter where she was. Smiling and feeling better than she had in what felt like a very long time, she closed the glass doors and made them secure before drawing the drapes. It was time to practice what she preached. Time to fight back again. In more ways than one...

She wasn't giving up on Bruce just yet. Whether he liked it or not.

Still smiling, she gathered together the remnants of the coffee Alfred had silently served, making sure the room was the way she'd found it before she lifted the tray and headed for the door. Halfway there the painting caught her eye. Making a detour to look at it more closely, she was amazed at how quickly she'd got used to seeing so many expensive items surrounding her. Of course it was a real Renoir. Would Bruce Wayne have anything less? But it amused her that Lois had noticed it from across the room. Lois Lane, Art Connoisseur? That one definitely fell into the realms of the Weird and Unexplained. At the door she took one last look into the room, still hearing the sound of her cousin's laughter. What had started out as one of the lowest days of her new life had ended on a high.

Glancing at her watch, she switched off the lights and closed the door. Time to go to work.

Alfred met her in the middle of the hall and took the tray, "Pleasant evening, Miss?"

"The best, Alfred. Thank you." She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, "I'm going downstairs. The team will be in position soon and I need to make the sure the satellites have rolled into place."

"What satellites?"

Eyes widening in surprise at the sound of the deep voice behind her, she swung around to look at Bruce, "You're home."

He frowned for a moment, "What satellites?"

"Don't worry. I didn't hijack any of the one's belonging to Wayne Enterprises. Queen Industries has a bunch of 'em."

When she smiled, Bruce looked suspicious, "What do you need satellite coverage for?"

"Better TV reception." Her smile grew when she realized a few hours in Lois' company had rubbed off on her, "It's for an Op. There's a front row seat if you want to observe."

She tossed the invitation without any expectation of having it accepted. To be honest, she didn't even know what he was doing back so soon. In the entire time she'd been at Wayne Manor, she'd never known Bruce to come home before dawn. Must have been quiet in Gotham. The thought that she wasn't the only one who had a good night, increased the brightness of her mood. If Bruce didn't want a ringside seat to see the League in action, she wouldn't pressure him on it. Not this time. She wasn't going anywhere. And if she could get him involved in some of the investigation the way she had when they'd worked together the night before, it would be a step in the right direction...

He nodded, "Okay."

She blinked at him. Just like that? What brought that on?

Alfred broke the silence while they stared at each other, "Ill say goodnight then. Miss Vicki. Master Bruce."

"Night, Alfred." When they said it in unison Vicki blinked again.

Then Bruce took a step back and held a long arm out to his side, "Shall we?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Wayne Manor – Late Night/Early Morning._

Vicki stepped past Bruce in the hall, looking up at him from the corner of her eye with caution as he turned and adjusted his longer stride to hers. In the softly lit library he asked in a low voice; "What kind of 'Op'?"

"We're breaking in to a suspected Bureau 39 facility in Mexico," she told him without hesitation, while he keyed in the code and slid open the door to the elevator. Only a matter of weeks ago she would immediately have asked why he wanted to know, but the very fact he was going to observe an active Op had to mean something, so a confrontational answer probably wasn't the best option to continue taking them in the right direction. That was one reason for her answer anyway. The other was a part of her was reluctant to break whatever spell had fallen over him with another confrontation. Not that she wasn't still suspicious...

Waiting for her to step inside before he joined her, he slid first the door and then the gate shut and pressed the large button to send them down into the cave, "When exactly did we find this suspected Bureau 39 facility?"

"Yesterday." She couldn't help it; stealing surreptitious glances at him from the corner of her eye as they descended. Looked like Bruce. Sounded like Bruce. But something was off. Then it hit her. 'We'. He was using the word 'we'. Since when were they a '_we_'?

"And when were you planning on telling me?"

Turning ninety degrees and lifting her chin so she could look at him without trying to pretend she wasn't, Vicki was unable to resist the answer she'd heard thrown at her so many times before, "I wasn't aware I had to report to you."

Bruce smiled down at her when she blinked innocently at him. The sight made her hesitate. It took a moment for it to sink in, so she checked again just to sure. Yep, definitely smiling. No sarcastic comeback, not even an unreadable mask. What was going on? It was freaking her out a little. And it wasn't just that he was acting weird and smiling at her. It was how that smile changed him when it made it all the way up into his dark eyes; transforming him into someone she'd never met before. At least she didn't think she had. And she was pretty darn sure she'd have _remembered_. Vicki searched her memory for a similar smile just to be sure, trying to match it up with whatever persona he'd seamlessly slipped into. But she had nothing. Nada. If she didn't know better she would say the smile was... _genuine_...

But that wasn't the most unsettling thing. The worst of it was it was the kind of smile that could knock a girl on her ear if she didn't know who she was dealing with. Dirty pool, Bruce Wayne. Very dirty pool. Her eyes narrowed in silent reprimand as she pivoted on her heel and focussed her gaze forwards at the combination of rough rock and wooden support beams as they passed by; trying to kid herself the mental picture of that smile wasn't ingrained on her frontal lobe for all eternity. Or that she would think about it every time he gave her one of the false smiles more familiar to her and her knowledge of it would make her miss the presence of the real thing. This wasn't anywhere in the remotest region of what she'd been expecting when she next saw him. Unless she was very much mistaken he'd left unhappy with the decision to let Lois come to the house. Vicki had been ready to entrench herself for the long haul again; had mentally prepared herself for the battle ahead and was ready to nice him to death until she found the tiniest chink in his armor and could use it to wriggle her way in and show him he didn't have to keep her at arms length. Strength in numbers. United we stand. The kinds of things she'd been aiming to show him from the start. Or at least since he'd known she was Watchtower.

She most certainly hadn't been prepared for what might be a little glimpse of a Bruce Wayne hidden from the rest of the world. Possibly even the Bruce that Alfred knew. But how would she know if it was? She had nothing to use as a comparison. Blinking and shaking her head the tiniest amount when she realized how much she was over-analysing a smile, she risked another a sideways glance and discovered the smile had gone from his mouth. Ridiculously she was disappointed it wasn't there any more. Then her gaze travelled upwards and she discovered it was still glittering in the dark depths of his eyes. Now wait just a darn minute. Was he laughing at her? He better not be! Because if he was laughing at her then he was messing with her on purpose. Her eyes narrowed again. She couldn't have him sitting beside her on the platform watching her every move during an active Op if he was going to behave like this. Was that what he was trying to do? Distract her to get her to mess up so he could prove how inefficient the League was at getting the job done? If that's what he was doing, he'd picked the wrong girl for that game.

Halfway across the cave she informed him; "Silent spectator makes the coffee. Emphasis on the word '_silent_'."

"I'd comment on that but I'm fairly sure I've just been told to shut up."

"And yet... I can still hear you." She smiled sweetly, determined not to have her previous good mood ruined by his Machiavellian tactics.

By the time a steaming mug of coffee was placed on the counter in front of her, she had all of her screens online and was checking the longitude and latitude of the satellites. He was rolling his chair closer to hers when the female computer voice Oliver had dubbed 'The Oracle', sounded for the first time.

'_Impulse online._'

Bart's cheery voice echoed off the cave walls; "Heeeyyyy beautiful! And if I may say so you're looking particularly delicious in that little number you're wearing tonight. Is that silk I can hear? _Tell me it's silk_."

A brief glance at Bruce from the corner of her eye saw him pause halfway into lowering himself onto his chair, his gaze shifting to the screens, then to Vicki. He cocked a brow at her as he sat down, and he didn't need to say a word to get the message across. His face said it all. So much for demonstrating the Justice League's professionalism. Vicki sighed inwardly as she reached up to her ear and turned on the Com.

"You're early." She admonished. Though in fairness it could happen more often and most of the team would be fine with that. Bart had a tendency to wait till the last possible moment to show up for anything. A luxury super-speed allowed him, but one that still bugged those who had worked the longest with him and had to travel to their destination by more traditional – and much slower - means.

"Just taking a jog around the perimeter."

"Anything changed?"

"Nada on that one, mi amor. So what's new with you?"

"Satellite feeds. And you're not helping me concentrate right now."

"I could come help in person – with a lot of things - and still be back here with time to spare..." He said without missing a beat.

Vicki couldn't help but smile at the familiar to-and-fro, "And I keep telling you, there are certain times a woman doesn't appreciate speed."

"_Ouch_!" He replied, "Gets me in the male pride every time."

Turning her chair, she glared briefly at what looked like another glint of amusement in Bruce's eyes while reaching past him for her Ipod, "I'm gonna need a few minutes to run some checks. Let me know if anything changes there."

"You got it, Señorita. Just gonna skip over and get a burrito while I wait for the lesser men among us to catch up with me."

Feeling guilty for the use of the cool professional tone she normally didn't use when speaking to him, Vicki smiled and teased him in reply, "Just the one? You on a diet?"

"Ah, Watchtower... you know me so well...Impulse out."

Bruce lifted his mug to his mouth, the rumbling tone of his deep voice dry, "As a member of the general public I feel a lot safer in the League's hands right now."

"I can hear talking."

"Op hasn't started yet." He pointed out over the rim of the mug, "Apparently we're on a burrito break."

While he took a sip of coffee, Vicki squared her shoulders and silently reminded herself to focus on what she was doing instead of worrying how Bruce perceived her team. They'd worked together for a long time and were familiar with the differing personalities that meshed (sometimes unexpectedly), clashed (unsurprisingly) but ultimately had the qualities required to do what others couldn't while while working within the remit of the law. It didn't matter if it was Knight or Lantern or Wonder, or to a lesser extent Blue, who was listening in or joining an Op for the first time, she told herself, they would all have the same obstacles to overcome when it came to finding their place in the rhythm that had taken time to perfect.

"You might need to move your chair back a little." Vicki informed him a few minutes later, "I tend to move around. And I'm not used to having to warn someone before I do."

Bruce didn't reply. He simply pushed on his large feet and rolled back to make room; the movement displacing the air enough to leave a feint scent of soap and... shower gel? Vicki glanced at him for the umpteenth time. The tips of his dark hair were wet. Just how long had he been back? She knew he kept a stock of spare clothes in the cave. Was there a shower down here somewhere too? It would make sense she supposed. If, for any reason he couldn't appear upstairs without looking like he hadn't been in a bust up as Batman, he would need a way to change from one persona to the other. But then considering her recent education when it came to the number of secret passageways in the mansion, maybe there was more than one way for him to get from the cave to the first floor...

Pressing her lips into a thin line she reminded herself she was supposed to be concentrating on the Op. Not wondering where Bruce had taken his shower or noticing how great he smelled. She rolled her chair along the desk and tapped into the local police bands, then double checked the computer programmes were good to go before the satellite feeds went live.

'_Arrow online._'

"Tapped into the phone lines, Watchtower. They're all yours. Moving Uptown to rendezvous point."

"Roger that." She brought the feed up on another terminal, then glanced over her shoulder to where Bruce was watching and felt the need to break the silence with an explanation of what they were doing, "We break the area into zones. In this case Uptown and Downtown."

"Two different targets."

"One primary. We want to get to their mainframe to see if it's linked to any other facilities they have. That way we can save ourselves some time."

When she glanced at him again, his gaze had shifted to one of the monitors where a satellite feed was playing, "The green dot?"

"Ours. The Com's they use have a frequency the satellites can pick up once they sign in."

Okay. Almost there. Her gaze shifted to the time-stamp in the corner of the screen as she plugged her Ipod into her terminal and grabbed a quick mouthful of coffee. She circled her neck to the left and right to loosen up as she watched the time ticking down.

'_Cyborg online._'

'_Impulse online_'

And now there were three green dots, "Arrow in position. How's the perimeter look Downtown?"

Bart's voice answered, "All clear. Patrol should pass you any second."

Vicki glanced at the infra-red satellite feed again, "Two on board. Twelve inside target area. Three in central control."

"Same movement pattern as last night?" Oliver asked.

"Affirmative."

His voice lowered to a stage whisper, "Patrol approaching Uptown."

The Com's went silent as Vicki set her mug out of the way so she wouldn't knock it over, and they waited for the Jeep to move past and head into the base.

"T-minus-eight." She looked over her shoulder again to inform Bruce, "Once the patrol is inside the control room for their break, we go."

Bruce nodded again; his gaze still locked on the monitors. They'd obviously done some kind of reconnaissance on the target. When was the obvious question, but short of spending twenty-four hours a day in Vicki's company he doubted he would ever know what she'd been doing unless she decided to tell him. And that was before he took in to consideration the fact she wasn't working alone. Did they all report their movements to her or did they work independently until such time as they were needed to band together for something like this? It would make sense. Was a point in their favour as far as Bruce was concerned. If he wasn't expected to report his movements every second of every day and it was just a case of collating information into some kind of central database, with his presence as Batman only required when absolutely necessary, it would make a coalition with them somewhat easier to bear. It was certainly what had been sold to him by Kent at the beginning. He'd had his doubts since. But as Alfred would say, the proof of the pudding... and if his decision to stick by Vicki's side meant that he had that proof, well, it was simply an example of two birds, one stone. It made Bruce feel better about the fact spending so much time in close proximity to her was bound to exacerbate his awareness of her as more than Watchtower. He needed to focus on that. She was Watchtower. She was the Justice League's co-ordinator. All he was doing was learning what that meant first-hand while she was under his protection. It was the perfect opportunity. Not to mention a way to make conversation without actually having to say anything that wasn't relevant in professional terms. Even if he'd been told not to speak...

She turned and looked at him again, "Oh. And by the way? Your sound system down here? It sucked. I had to tweak it some."

"What sound system?"

"Exactly," she grinned.

Bruce opened his mouth, but was forced to close it again when another voice sounded.

"Cyborg in position."

"Impulse ready to rock and roll..."

Vicki's voice remained calm despite the over-exuberant enthusiasm in the last voice, "Two minutes."

Something on one of the screens caught Bruce's attention, "What's that?"

She glanced at him long enough to confirm where he was looking, "A calling card. And I really need you to be quiet now. There's a quiz at the end..." Her voice changed from calm to teasing to professional in the space of a heartbeat, "One minute."

Two red, blurry figures moved inside the building on the satellite display. Down a hallway. Into a room where three more figures were stationary. The aforementioned control room, Bruce surmised.

"Mark time. In three, two, one – _set_."

"Arrow set."

"Cyborg set."

"Impulse set."

The atmosphere in the cave changed as Vicki sat a little taller in her chair, "All right gentlemen. Tonight we'll be breaking into this more than likely highly illegal, super-secret Government facility to a backing track of _Supermassive Black Hole_ by _Muse_."

A sound system Bruce hadn't known existed, kicked in; a heavy guitar beat bouncing off the cave walls as she spoke in a firmer voice; "Isolating the feed from the power grid."

The green dots started to move.

"Accessing perimeter alarm." Said the voice Bruce recognized as Cyborg. Of the three his communication had been more matter-of-fact, saying only what he needed to over the Com and nothing more. Personally Bruce preferred that. He understood Queen's need to assess the situation as the leader of the team on the ground as Arrow, but he found the majority of comments from Impulse to be both unnecessary and a risk that didn't need to be taken considering someone might be listening in and their position could be revealed while he discussed burritos and whatever Vicki was wearing.

As the music continued to fill the cave, Bruce fought the need to move closer so he could see Vicki's expression as she worked, instead leaning forward in his chair – his gaze flickering from screen to screen – until he was glad he hadn't moved when she pushed against the desk and rolled rapidly across the floor to another terminal, "Bringing up remote visuals."

Three of the screens changed to night vision images from the perspectives of those on the ground. Arrow lifted a gloved hand and waved at the person in front of him; who appeared to have a wire jacked into the skin of his arm from a box on the perimeter fence.

"Perimeter alarm neutralized." He said as he looked back at Queen.

Queen turned towards the fence and began cutting a hole as he spoke, "Impulse, you're up."

"On it." A green dot was inside the building in the blink of an eye, his perspective moving too fast for Bruce to see what he was doing until he stopped and slid a bar through the handles of a door, "All tucked up in the control room. Moving to secondary target."

Arrow and Cyborg were running across the compound as Vicki spoke, "Three minutes. Cutting exterior power feed." There was a brief pause then, "They're on the backup generator... _now_." Her head turned sharply, allowing Bruce a brief glimpse of her profile as something caught her attention, "Congratulations boys, you just tripped a silent alarm."

Arrow replied with, "Can you intercept?"

"Switching to silent running."

The music died as she changed headsets and answered what Bruce assumed was an incoming call. She did it in fluent Spanish, explaining to the person calling from the local police station that they were having a problem with an alarm system and it was nothing to worry about, then apologizing for the inconvenience. She hung up, placed an outgoing call to the facility they were breaking into and told them in the same flawless Spanish that she was from the local police station, before asking if they required assistance. Once she'd promised to send the nearest available units, she hung up and switched headphones again. The music volume went back up as she informed the team, "Three minutes thirty-five seconds."

Bruce's gaze moved from the satellite feed of the building where three red figures were moving on a path to intercept the two green dots, to the screen where - from Arrow's point of view - he could see a small hand-held crossbow being raised before Vicki told him,

"Arrow. Three bogeys approaching 11 o'clock." She looked back at satellite feed at the same time as Bruce, "Impulse. Four on your six."

"Want me to take down yours too, Arrow?"

"How about you do your job and let me do mine." He crouched into position and raised the crossbow, "Cyborg, go for the pay-load, we'll take care of the natives."

The man took off at speed, his green dot not moving as fast as Impulse's, but impressive nonetheless; leaving Bruce wondering if their sprinting abilities were natural or enhanced. Certainly his ability to jack directly into the security system, physically, wasn't something he could do without some kind of assistance. Bruce stored the questions away in his mind while he continued watching.

"Three minute mark, in three, two, one. _Mark_." Vicki's voice said calmly.

There was a flurry of movement on two out of the three screens playing live feeds. Small arrows were fired from the crossbow and then Queen ran forward to check his target's pulses while the other screen stilled long enough for Impulse to do with the same check with the men he'd left unconscious.

Cyborg slowed down in front of a steel door. He began typing a series of four digit numeric codes into a keypad at incredible speeds; "Running code permutations."

"One guard still on the gate." Vicki checked the satellite feed, "One in the corridor to the west of Cyborg. Looks like they're trying to break free from central control."

"I got the one in the corridor." Arrow said.

"I'm in." Cyborg told them as he swung open the door and headed straight for a large bank of computer screens, "Accessing pay-load."

When he bowed his head, Bruce saw him jack directly into his arm the same way he had with the perimeter fence. How was he doing that? He then looked up as information fed across all of the screens simultaneously at a speed too fast to read, for the vast majority of people... but apparently not Cyborg...

Because he then said, "Nothing unusual so far. Wait. That might be something."

Arrow was running when he answered, "We'll look closer later. Take everything and drop the calling card."

"Affirmative."

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" Impulse's voice said, drawing both Bruce and Vicki's attention to his screen as he looked around the room he'd entered, "Quick look around the store-room you said."

"Problem?" Arrow asked as he fired the crossbow at the security guard approaching him.

"Two minutes twenty," Vicki said in the same calm tone she'd used throughout, "The store-room is floor to ceiling with numbered crates. We'll need to prioritize. Serial numbers might match to computer records. There isn't time to look into all of them."

"Says who?" Impulse replied, "You'll just have to slow down the playback some."

Bruce's gaze shifted to the satellite feed screens and the one that had remained static throughout. Until now. He pushed to his feet and stepped up behind Vicki, setting a hand on her shoulder and feeling her jump in reaction as he pointed at the screen, "You've got company."

She tapped a couple of keys and zoomed in, then again, and again, until they could clearly see the approaching Jeep – most likely local militia of some kind - as it began to swerve from one side of the narrow, dusty track to the other. Bruce removed his hand from Vicki's shoulder and took a step back in case she needed to move again; her warmth still tingling in his palm. Another zoom in and it was plain the men inside where trying to cover their ears while the driver tried to control the Jeep. The windscreen shattered. They veered off the road and hit a sand bank. Then two of the men who stumbled free of the wreckage hit the ground. Bruce frowned. What -

'_Canary online_.'

"Secondary perimeter clear." Said a woman's voice. "You girls planning on having a sleep-over in there?"

A fourth green dot appeared on the periphery of the screen focussed on the building as Cyborg said; "Download complete. Ready to upload calling card."

Vicki aimed a small, soft smile at Bruce for his assistance. Not that it had been needed. Then she rolled her chair along the desk, "Connecting."

"Signal received."

"Sending." She tapped rapidly on the keys and a small, dancing devil appeared below Cyborg's visual feed with a bar that indicated an upload was in progress. Then she rolled back along the desk again, "Two minute mark in three, two, one. _Mark_"

Impulse's visual was moving too fast for Bruce to decipher, but he could see clearly what Arrow's gloved hand was doing. He was laying charges of some kind. They were planning on blowing up the building? Bruce frowned. What about the people inside? If people were killed on their Op then it amounted to terrorism, no matter how noble the cause. He couldn't remain silent.

"Are those explosives?"

Vicki's voice was cool after she reached a hand to her ear, "The equivalent of smoke grenades. It's in case we need a diversion." She pointed at the screen, "They've been working on the door in the control room. They might get it open before we're done."

"And the calling card?"

She looked over her shoulder again, "We adapted your tracking program. It's gonna go walkabout in their system for the next five days if they try to link to somewhere else."

The way her chin lifted told him she was ready to be challenged on the subject. And possibly that she was a little disappointed he'd thought they were going to blow up the building when there were people inside. But before he could make a comment on either subject, she'd reached her hand to her ear again and her attention returned to the screens, "Calling card at fifty percent. One minute to evac window for primary extraction."

"Exit path ready." Arrow reported as he placed another charge against a beam, "Impulse. How we doing?"

Impulse stopped moving long enough to answer, "Little under halfway."

"You got less than a minute."

He was moving again when the woman's voice sounded, "Make it snappy girls. They're radioing for a status report from our friends in the secondary perimeter. I heard the word 'helicóptero' mentioned."

"So much for the computer software company sign on the gate." Arrow responded dryly.

"Calling card at seventy percent." Vicki said, "One minute thirty seconds. Forty-five seconds to primary evac window."

"ETA on the helicóptero?"

Vicki rolled her chair across the desk, "Calling card at eighty percent. Widening horizon of the eyes from above."

The satellite that had zoomed in on the approaching Jeep before Canary intercepted it, zoomed back out and began to cover a wider area. It didn't take long for it to pick up the incoming blip of the helicopter. Vicki widened the area again, zeroed in on an area further behind, and then zoomed in several times to pick up a convoy of Jeeps and what looked like an ATV. Whatever was in the building was obviously worth enough to merit a local branch of the army to protect it. As Arrow had said; it obviously wasn't a computer software company.

Bruce glanced down at Vicki's profile as she studied the movement, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of varying lights from the screens, "Air support incoming. It's gonna be tight. They're bringing friends on the ground."

She rolled her chair back along the desk, "Calling card at ninety three percent. Thirty-five seconds to primary evac window."

Arrow stood still for a moment, "Canary fall back to primary. Impulse thirty seconds. Cyborg, cut and run on Watchtower's mark."

"On the move." The woman's voice said.

Impulse's feed - impossibly - seemed to be speeding up.

The heavy guitar beat in the cave sounded louder to Bruce, but he suspected it had more to do with his awareness of the countdown and rising danger. It was an occupational hazard. His senses more alert when the stakes were higher. Standing behind Vicki he was even more aware of her every move. How she was following everything that was happening with the almost imperceptible movement of her head as she looked at each of the screens at odds with how fast her fine boned fingers would move over the keys, or how swiftly she would move from one keyboard to the other.

"Calling card at ninety eight percent. Ninety nine." The wheels of her chair rolled across the smooth floor, "One hundred... And we're offline."

"Logging off." Cyborg was on the move. All of the green dots moving in a southerly direction. Bar one.

"Eighteen seconds to primary evac window." Vicki's chair moved again as she continued, "One minute mark in three, two, one. _Mark_"

One green dot was clear of the building, another gaining rapidly. The third still hadn't moved according to the satellite feed.

"Ten seconds to primary evac window."

Bruce's gaze flickered from screen to screen while he noted where each member of the team was and the progress they were making to an unknown pick-up point in relation to the progress the helicopter was making to their location. Vicki was right. It was going to be close. Then another blip caught his attention. Closing in on them a lot faster...

Vicki's head turned as she saw the same thing, "Charon incoming."

Charon: The mythical boatman who rowed damned souls across the river Styx to Hell. Only in this case it was the reverse trip, wasn't it?

"Six seconds to primary evac window. Five, four, three -"

"Impulse. _Move_!" Arrow commanded on the run.

"Two, one..." Vicki glanced at the screen long enough to see the third green dot disappear from the screen and reappear ahead of the others, "All clear. Forty seconds to extraction."

She hit another key, "Watchtower to Charon. Rendezvous at primary extraction point. Suggest Westerly departure. Incoming chopper from North East."

"Roger, Watchtower. Extraction at primary."

"Take your time folks. I'll just do the crossword till you get here." Said Impulse's irritatingly cheery voice from his stationary position. Presumably the extraction point. Bruce could only imagine how annoying that was for everyone else running to catch up with him. Especially when he'd literally waited until the last second to leave the building.

"Or you could just run home." The woman answered.

"Twenty bucks says I get there first."

A smile sounded in Vicki's voice at what Bruce took to be a familiar back-and-forth, "Twenty-five seconds to extraction. Running radar interference."

The three green dots closed in on the fourths position as Charon raced to get to them before the other chopper cleared the building.

"Our friends are close enough to see the laser signal. Charon – your call." Arrow said as the dots converged.

Vicki interrupted with; "Twenty seconds."

Charon's thickly accented voice sounded, "We should be right on top of you. Downward crossover. No touch down."

"Roger that, Charon." Arrow answered, "Spread out gang."

Bruce watched through the varying point of views as they spread out around the landing zone and Vicki sounded off, "Seventeen seconds."

Each of the team produced a pencil thin laser and aimed them at the ground so the beams met in a single point in the center of the flat area.

Charon's voice: "We have visual confirmation."

The man was obviously good at his job. When Arrow lifted his chin to look upwards, the green outline of the chopper in his night vision was barely visible in the night sky, but it was coming in fast. Nose lifting and tail dipping as it rapidly reduced speed and lowered to a point where they could climb on board. Without the chopper touching down.

"Twelve seconds." Vicki informed them.

"Lasers off." Arrow ordered as the chopper levelled off, "Thirty feet Charon. Twenty-five."

"Ten seconds. Nine. Eight -"

"Fifteen feet."

"Seven. Six. Five."

"Ten feet."

"Four. Three. Two."

Arrow and the others ran forwards and climbed inside.

"Extraction complete, Watchtower." Charon said as the team's visual feeds died, "Departing Westerly."

"Roger, Charon." Vicki checked the satellite feeds as the music stopped and her voice became the only noise in the cave, "Bogey hasn't altered course. We're clear."

"You have the video feed from Impulse?" Arrow asked.

"I do." She began shutting down screens.

"We'll deliver the rest of the package first thing."

Vicki nodded, "I look forward to it. Safe journey. Watchtower out."

When all the screens were dark, she swung her chair around and looked up at Bruce, folding her arms across her breasts and angling her chin as she lifted a brow. She knew he had questions. But judging by the small smile on her lips and how much of it she was holding back judging by the sparkling light in the green of her eyes, she knew he'd seen enough to know they could run a tight operation when they chose to; needless bantering aside.

Bruce simply took a deep breath and said, "I'm hungry. You hungry?"

She blinked in surprise, "That's it? No questions."

"Oh, I think we both know I have questions." He stepped forwards, cupped her elbows in his large hands and gently eased her out of her chair; releasing her the second she was upright, "I just choose to ask them while eating."

Taking a step back, he moved to one side to allow her to step past, her sideways glance immediately curling his mouth into a similar small smile to the one she'd so recently worn. He was just as aware of every time she stole one of those sideways glances at him as they walked through the cave to the elevator as he had been on the way down to the cave.

They were in the elevator when she spoke again, "Nice try by the way."

Bruce slid the gate shut and reached for the button, "Nice try at what?"

"Distracting me."

"Is that what I was trying to do?" As the elevator lurched upwards, he turned around and leaned against the metal cage, his gaze fixed on hers.

"Oh," she smiled sweetly, "I think we both know that's what you were doing."

When she folded her arms again, Bruce mirrored her stance, "And what exactly was I doing to distract you?"

"It didn't work." She informed him with a lift of her chin.

"Maybe if you told me what it was I was supposedly doing, I could tell you whether or not I was successful at it."

Pressing her lips together, she glared at him for a moment, looked away from his steady gaze, and then took a deep breath that lifted her small breasts against her folded arms before she looked at him again, "You thought if you distracted me by being there you could get me to make a mistake. That way you'd prove some kind of point about the League being incapable of-"

"My plan was distract you simply by being there?" Bruce continued staring into her eyes, "That wasn't much of a plan. Wouldn't I have put more effort into it if I was determined to prove a point?"

Vicki's mouth opened, then closed again. She frowned, "If you weren't trying to distract me, then what were you doing?"

"I thought I was observing an Op." As they jerked to a halt, he pulled back the gate, slid open the door and stood back to allow her to step through ahead of him; waiting until she was beside him before he lowered his head and added, "I had no idea you found my presence so distracting."

She stepped through into the library, then turned on him with a firm, "I don't."

Bruce turned his back to her as he closed the gate and door, "And yet you thought, I thought, that's all it would take to stop you from doing your job."

"It didn't."

Turning, he walked past her, "It was a smooth operation. A little too talkative at times, but you got the job done. So much for my dastardly plan."

Her heels sounded on the wooden floor behind him as he headed for the kitchen, "You didn't think we were capable of pulling off an Op like that."

"I would assume you're capable enough if you've done similar Op's in the past. Which I've been led to believe you have..."

Her footsteps sped up so she could keep up with him in the hall, "How many Op's we've done in the past has nothing to do with it. You've never seen us in action before and you're hardly a cheerleader for the League. So you went down there with the belief we're some kind of Mickey Mouse operation incapable of doing things to the same high standard as Batman."

"Did I?"

Something closely resembling a low growl emanated from behind his back as he reached out and switched on the lights in the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator.

"You thought we were a joke from the beginning."

"And yet I agreed to work with you for a trial period."

"Until you could see whether or not we reached your exacting standards. You didn't think we could. And '_work with us_' is a bit of a stretch. You've been observing us from the get-go."

Bruce opened the refrigerator door and leaned down to look inside, cool air whispering over his face, "Well, since you can apparently read my mind, you can tell me what I'm thinking right now; omelet or grilled cheese?"

The question was met with silence.

Standing tall, he looked at her still figure while keeping his arm hidden. He lifted a brow, "Do you have a preference?"

"I'm not hungry." She frowned for a second, then took a short breath and added, "Thanks."

Setting eggs and a block of butter on the counter beside the large stove, Bruce opened a cupboard and removed a shallow pan, another cupboard higher up for salt and pepper, another for a deep sided bowl and a drawer for the utensils he needed – all of which he could have done with his eyes closed. Cracking eggs into the bowl one handed, he turned on the heat and allowed a knob of butter to melt in the pan. He could have done that with his eyes closed too. Darkness was familiar territory. It was only Vicki's presence that made him turn on the light.

The room remained silent, apart from his movements, but as always he was aware of the presence of another person close by. He could almost feel her uncertainty. If she wasn't hungry, the reason she was still standing there had to be her curiosity about the questions he had. She didn't have to continue standing, yet she hadn't sat down; Bruce wondered why. Then she appeared in his peripheral vision, turned, and leaned her back against the counter before telling him in a softer voice,

"I can never do that."

"Cook an omelet?"

"No. Crack eggs one handed. I always end up with shells in the bowl."

Bruce added salt and pepper and lightly beat the eggs with a fork, "There's a knack to it."

It went silent again while he tipped the eggs into the pan and pushed the edges toward the center as they cooked.

"Did Alfred teach you to cook?"

"Some of the basics, yes. The need to kill for food to survive I learned out of necessity."

"When did you need to kill for food to survive?"

Bruce rolled the pan a little on the burner, "The mountains of Bhutan were a little short on fast food outlets."

He frowned for a moment when he realized he'd said the words aloud. It was too late to take them back, and the investigator in Vicki jumped on them, "When were you in Bhutan?"

"A few years ago." He answered flatly.

"Ah, the missing years. I'd forgotten about those." She didn't wait for a response. Instead, she reached back, laid her palms flat on the counter, and hoisted herself up onto it, "I lied. I am hungry."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, "You want anything in it?"

"I'll have what you're having." She smiled as she lifted the plate he'd set on the counter and held it out.

Folding the omelet into a neat parcel, he lifted the pan and allowed it to slide onto her plate before beginning the process a second time while Vicki lifted his fork and asked, "What was it like?"

"Bhutan?"

"Mmm-hmm..." She used the edge of the fork to cut a small piece off the end of the fluffy omelet while he cracked eggs into the bowl.

"Cold."

"And mountainous?" When he looked at her again she blinked innocently while popping the piece of omelet in her mouth. Her brows lifted for a second as she chewed.

"Good?"

She nodded as she swallowed, "Very good."

Lowering her chin, a loose strand of hair falling forwards and resting against her cheek, she focussed on cutting another small piece as Bruce poured the new batch of beaten eggs into the pan. Lifting a long arm, he reached past her ear to get another plate,

When he glanced at her again she was studying him with her head at an angle and curiosity sparkling in her eyes, "Where were you before you went sightseeing in the mountains?"

"Prison." He set the plate down.

"What did you do?"

While neatly folding the second omelet before sliding it onto his plate, Bruce took a second to think about the way she'd asked the question as if his time in prison was nothing out of the ordinary. Not that it was overly surprising she wasn't phased by it, but more from the point of view of the fact it was a reflection of how their lives weren't altogether dissimilar. Not that he thought she'd spent time in a Bhutanese prison, but she knew what it was to be imprisoned, didn't she? Maybe by telling her a little of the period in his life he never talked to anyone about, he could get her to tell him something in return. It would certainly save time. And since he had a sneaking suspicion she might have had something to do with helping the court transcripts of Witness Number 58874 remain more 'sealed' than usual...

"I was re-appropriating something that belonged to me." There'd been a certain irony to that at the time, considering the petty crimes he'd already committed in his quest to understand the criminal mind.

"You were arrested for stealing something that belonged to you?"

"They didn't know it belonged to me," he glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he pulled out the drawer to get another fork.

"How did you know it did?"

"My name was on the boxes."

"As in Wayne Enterprises?"

He aimed a small smile at her in reply. When he turned towards the table, she wriggled off the counter and joined him, sitting on a chair facing his as he stepped back to the cupboards for two glasses and returned with a carton of milk.

"How did you know the people who had the boxes hadn't paid for them?"

"I didn't." He slid a glass towards her as he sat down.

Her eyes narrowed in thought, "You didn't want them to know who you were..."

It was an appropriate way of putting it. Who he was. Past tense. At that point he hadn't known who he was. All he'd known was he couldn't do what he wanted to do as Bruce Wayne. So he'd ceased to be Bruce Wayne. Made a conscious decision to disappear so he could be reborn as something else. Bruce Wayne the billionaire had become a mask. A way of hiding in plain sight. The same way Vicki Vale did.

Cutting an edge off the omelet, he placed it in his mouth and chewed as he watched her watching him. There were more questions. He could see them in her eyes. So he waited...

Long lashes flickered as her gaze searched each of his eyes in turn, then she took a short breath and asked in a low voice, "Why are you telling me this?"

"You asked."

"Never did me any good before." She pointed out. Her mouth curling into a smile that softened the green of her eyes. Then she angled her head again, "I get it. You have questions. Questions that have nothing to do with the Op. And you figured if you volunteered some information, I'd be more likely to answer them. Right?"

Bruce continued chewing.

So she took another breath, "Okay. Shoot."

"What will I find in the court transcripts for Witness Number 58874?" he didn't try to pretend he wouldn't be able to get his hands on the transcripts. They both knew he would. Even if it took time and more effort than usual.

Vicki's chin lowered, her fork set quietly on the plate beside her half eaten omelet before she pushed it to one side, as if the question had caused a sudden loss of appetite, "You know what he was prosecuted for."

"Yes."

"And you've read everything in the public domain," her fingertips brushed an imaginary fleck of dirt from the wooden surface of the table in front of her; her head still bowed as she watched the movement.

"Yes."

She nodded, "Then I'd say you already have a fair idea of what you'll find in the transcripts."

Bruce's gaze lowered from the sheen of light on her hair to the movement of her fingertips before she slid her hand back and hid it beneath the edge of the table, "He experimented on you."

"Yes. But then it wasn't the first time he'd done that. It was just the first time I'd been aware it was him while it happened..."

"What did he do?"

Her gaze lifted sharply when his tone was terse, her gaze searching his before an impossibly gentle smile curled her lips, "Not what you're thinking right now."

The words were said in a tone that matched the softness in her eyes, her smile remaining when he frowned and focussed his attention on slicing another edge off his omelet. When he didn't say anything in response, she took a deeper breath, "It started with the usual blood tests, examination of my DNA – they took swabs and skin samples. I had several physicals. Then... tolerance tests..."

Bruce glanced up as she added; "Some of those were fun."

Her gaze met his for a brief second, then flickered away to an invisible point over his left shoulder, "I guess it makes sense. If you know someone has the ability to heal, then you do tests to try and find out how they do it, how long it takes, how long it takes the subject to recover once they've done it." She shrugged her narrow shoulders, then lowered her chin as her hands lifted to smooth the wooden surface of the table again, "In some ways they helped me hone my ability. Practice makes perfect..."

Grinding his back teeth together at the mental images her emotionless words evoked in his mind, Bruce forced the question through his lips, "He hurt people in front of you so you could heal them, or he brought you people who were already hurt?"

"Both." She damped her lips with the tip of her tongue, "Not that he ever did it himself, you understand. But I think the fact he watched every experiment was a privilege reserved especially for me. I was a special case. The fact he knew me may have had something to do with it. The fact I was proving... problematic to clone... probably had more to do with it."

"Can you heal yourself?"

Vicki nodded, "I can now. I couldn't before."

"Did he help you hone that skill too?"

"Yes." Her gaze lifted.

Bruce knew everything he needed to know from the blank expression she wore. Just as Luthor had brought people to her, sometimes hurting them in front of her so she could heal them, he had purposefully had people hurt her, so he could discover if she was capable of healing herself.

"Did he kill you?" It took a lot to keep his voice calm.

She studied him for another long moment before asking, "Why do you need to know? I'm sitting here now, so what difference does it make?"

Good questions. Bruce thought about the answers. Apart from the fact it was obvious telling him wasn't something she was finding easy, or that he was well aware she was reliving what had happened the way anyone would when they were forced to look back on a difficult period of their life - the associated pain a scar carried inside where no-one could ever see it but never healed over to the extent where a jagged edge couldn't be re-opened – what could knowing about her past achieve? He could tell himself that understanding Luthor better would give him more information on how to deal with him, in the same way spending so many years away from Gotham had helped Bruce to understand the criminal mind better, and there would be an element of truth to that. But it was more than that. It also gave him a better understanding of the woman sitting across the table from him. Apparently he hungered for that knowledge. But admitting it to her?

Bruce shook his head, "It doesn't."

Vicki took another breath, her hands stilling on the table and retreating as she leaned back in her chair and rested her elbows on the wooden arms that curled out around her body. Then she surprised him with; "You've heard of Stockholm syndrome."

"Yes." He frowned. Surely she hadn't -?

"Lex is exactly the kind of man who can invoke Stockholm syndrome." Her gaze sought out the invisible point over Bruce's left shoulder, "There's no way you can ignore what's happening to you or around you when you're forced into his world. But with hindsight, you can't help but wonder how long it would have taken to discover what you're capable of without the impetus. We are who we are because of the things that happen to us and how we react to them."

"If you're able to heal yourself, you always had that the potential to do it," Bruce argued.

"Maybe. But there's something about physical pain that focusses your mind. Everything is sharper. Clearer." Her gaze slid across to meet his, "You of all people should understand that."

"I do. But I'd debate how invoking physical pain could cause a hostage to show loyalty to their torturer." Bruce continued to hold her gaze, "Unless they're one of those people who like to play with the pleasure/pain threshold for physical gratification."

Vicki exhaled a soft huff of laughter, "Yeah, that's not me."

"I didn't think it was."

In the distance a Grandfather clock chimed the hour, echoing through the cavernous space of the large house as Vicki continued to stare back at him, unflinching, while the words remained unspoken. She wouldn't ask him how he knew that, or tell him if his assumption about her was the same as hers would be about him. It was dangerous ground. The kind of conversation between consenting adults that crossed a line. Where one question would lead to another and the answers – if given – would echo in the same way the muted chimes of the clock had, adding to what was already entirely too much physical awareness from Bruce's perspective. He couldn't tell himself his senses were more alert because the stakes were higher. Not this time. Giving in to his physical awareness of her wasn't the same risk he took when he wore the mask and cowl, or the members of her team had taken on their Op...

"The end didn't justify the means." Bruce eventually said to break the silence.

"No." She answered in a whisper before lifting her chin a little, "But I understand why he was doing it. And why people follow his lead. How, even if they work for him, their loyalty isn't dissimilar to Stockholm syndrome. It's the same strategy evolved by newborn babies to form an emotional attachment to the nearest powerful adult in order to maximize the probability that the adult will, at the very least, enable its survival. Only Lex takes it a step further. He gives people a terrifying view of the world, taps into their worst fears and then persuades them that if they work with him, together they can save the world from annihilation. Their loyalty stems from fear."

"Is he right?"

"About the possibility of their worst fears being realized or saving the world if they work with him?" She blinked a couple of times as she asked the question in the same calm tone she'd used during the Op.

"Both." Bruce replied.

"Yes and no." The smile wasn't reflected in her eyes, "in that order."

"Their worst fear being?"

"That as a race we could be wiped out of existence."

From anyone else, the statement wouldn't have held as much weight. Instinctively Bruce knew she was simply stating the facts, because, "There have been times when that was a possibility. You've experienced them first hand."

"Yes."

"And?"

She smiled a more genuine smile, "we're still here."

"What stopped you from following the others into the realms of Stockholm syndrome?"

"And going over to the dark side?" Her eyes glittered with amusement for an all too brief second, "Why did you escape from prison?"

"I didn't." Bruce didn't hesitate in giving her a straight answer, as if he was aware they'd come too far and had already crossed an invisible line. He'd told her more than he'd ever told Rachel. But then Rachel had never asked, so it was probably a moot point, "I was given another option. I took it."

"Why?"

"Because I thought it would help me find what I was looking for."

"A better way of doing things?"

"I thought so at the time."

"Was it?"

"Eventually."

Vicki nodded, "I thought there was a better way of doing things too. That's why I wasn't seduced by his way of thinking. I'd already chosen my path, I just hadn't committed to it the way I needed to." She lifted a hand and set her forefinger against the edge of the table, lowering her chin to watch as she traced it with the tip of a glossy fingernail, "It might look like I was forced into it. But Lex did me a favor in the same way he did when he got me to focus on my ability." She shrugged, "It's true what people say: Sometimes we don't know what we're capable of until we're pushed. In the same way physical pain focussed my mind, being surrounded by darkness made it easier for me to see the light."

She lifted her lashes and aimed another small smile at him before rolling her eyes, "I know. Very Zen." Something else seemed to occur to her, "Actually, Alfred said something to me that was kinda apt too. He said things are seldom as bad as they seem when we're feeling low. It's what we do when the moment has passed that can make the difference. So while I wouldn't want to go back and relive the experience, and I'd do everything within my power to stop it from happening to anyone else, in some ways I have Lex to thank for who I am now. And what I can do."

Bruce understood what she was saying better than most. She wasn't suffering from Stockholm syndrome when it came to Luthor. She knew what he was and why he did the things he did, she understood why others would fall foul of the syndrome, but she knew his methods were wrong, that there was another way of doing things: One that wouldn't come at so high a cost. While he continued looking at her, Bruce couldn't help but think about the similarities and differences in the paths they had chosen. Where Luthor had forced her onto a path where she'd decided to band together with a group of others to fight people like him, Rhas Al Ghoul had led Bruce down a path where he could work with a group of others and instead Bruce had chosen to fight them and stand alone. The same battleground. Different strategies. But a common goal.

Vicki's gaze found his again, then she glanced down at their plates, "Are you finished with that?"

Bruce nodded, then watched as she gathered everything together before standing up and heading for the deep sink below the multi-paned windows that looked out on the moonlit gardens beyond. Pushing his chair back, he stepped over to the counter and cleared up his work area before joining her and handing her the last of the items in need of rinsing before they were stacked into the dishwasher. They worked in silence for as long as it took, Vicki rinsing before Bruce stacked; her gaze lifting to meet his on more than one occasion when their fingertips touched in the exchange. It was the kind of domestic scene Bruce rarely, if ever, participated in. As much because Alfred was so ultra-efficient in the running of the household as it was indicative of Bruce's absence while the work was being done. It was oddly calming, despite his awareness of Vicki; the way her fingers moved as she worked and her concentration on the task at hand no different to when she'd been working on the Op in terms of efficiency and - apparently - equally as fascinating to him. The way the water would run over the skin on the back of her hands. The movement of her hands naturally graceful, almost balletic at times. But most fascinating of all was how she would frequently lift one of those wet hands to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear; demonstrating a hint of vulnerability.

Her throat convulsed, Bruce's gaze lifting from the movement as she turned her head and looked up at him again; the last dish in her hand. He reached for it, purposefully brushing his fingertips against hers so he could see the reaction in her eyes. When they darkened a shade, he knew. He knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. Another realization followed: That was why she'd thought he planned to distract her during the Op simply by being there. She thought he knew how aware she was of him. He was far from naïve after all. But they'd been at odds so much of the time and he'd been so busy ignoring his physical awareness of her, that he hadn't stopped to think about what it would mean if she felt the same way and was fighting the same battle.

Sliding her fingers free, she turned her head, reaching for a dry cloth to wipe her hands before she stepped back, "I have a tonne of things to do in the morning. I think I'll head upstairs and catch a few hours sleep."

Bruce closed the dishwasher door, "There's a charity circus event tomorrow night. People will expect -"

"Me to go with you. Yes. I know." She waited for him to turn around and look at her, "Technically it's tonight. Not tomorrow night. But I appreciate being given so much notice."

When he searched for disapproval, he was surprised to find a glint of amusement in her eyes, "I told Alfred to get you a dress and whatever else you would need."

"I know."

Bruce walked to the door and waited for her to leave the room before he switched off the lights. When he followed her she was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, "Go on then."

He stopped in front of her, "And do what?"

"Ask me to go to the circus with you."

"We're supposedly living together. People will expect -"

"You said. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't ask me if I _want _to go with you," the soft tone of her voice stopped the words from being confrontational. In fact, if anything, it felt like she was teasing him. As if she was enjoying the fact Alfred had ruined the 'surprise' and that she could use it to make Bruce feel uncomfortable. It was the wrong tactic to use on a man who spent a good portion of his time playing the role of billionaire playboy.

Taking a measured step forwards, he smiled in the dim light as she took a reciprocal step back and bumped into the carved newel post at the bottom of the balustrade. While she jumped in surprise, he closed the gap; reaching out to lay a hand on the post at one side of her neck and another on the railing beside her waist, so she was trapped.

He leaned his head closer to hers, "Vicki..."

Her chin lifted as she replied with a somewhat uncertain, "Yes?"

Lowering his voice, he turned on the legendary Bruce Wayne charm and said the words slowly; "I would really like it if you would accompany me to the circus tonight..."

"I know what you're doing," she told him. "This is Bruce Wayne the playboy at work, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Lifting his hand from the newel post, he turned it over, ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek and continued smiling when she took a sharp breath as he tucked the damp strand of disobedient hair behind her ear before returning his hand to its original position.

"I take it this usually works for you."

"I can put more effort into it if I need to." He let the warning hang in the air between them.

Vicki's answer was swift, "Believe me. No further effort required." His smile grew when she realized what she'd said, adding; "And by that I mean -"

"Yes, Bruce, I'd love to go to the circus with you." He stepped back and dropped his arms to his sides, "We need to leave here at seven thirty."

"Fine." She turned and headed up the stairs while Bruce watched her silhouette appear in the large windows on the landing where the staircase continued curving upwards to the first floor.

"Why do we fall?"

She hesitated, her head turning so she could look over her shoulder, "What?"

"It's the version of Alfred's advice I grew up with. Something similar to the advice he gave you." He repeated; "Why do we fall?"

Before he could supply the answer her voice carried down to him, "So we can learn how to pick ourselves up..." He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling one of the smiles that softened the color of her eyes, "I think I'm a little in love with Alfred."

"He certainly appears to be fond of you."

"Unlike his schizophrenic employer." It was barely said loud enough for him to hear. From another woman it could have been interpreted as an opening for him to deny it or let her down gently. But not Vicki. She was just saying what she thought.

Bruce forcibly dragged his gaze away from the dark silhouette of her delicate profile and walked away, "Good night, Vicki."

"Good night, Bruce."


	12. Chapter 12

Just want to say another HUGE THANK YOU to everyone for all the comments and for taking the time to read this story! It's been hectically busy in the real world, so I haven't been able to post this as fast as I'd wanted to. I'm sorry about that, and hope you can forgive me! Will be back as soon as possible...

Annie. :)

**Chapter Twelve.**

_Wayne Manor – Evening:_

Vicki looked at the woman in the full length mirror while the person who used to be Chloe Sullivan tried to recognize herself in the reflection. Within the oval picture frame of the ornately scroll-edged mirror stood a grown woman, that was the simplest explanation, and the one she'd gotten used to with Vicki. But somehow, she felt a little more... lost... than she usually did. In one sense, it had been fun recreating herself again. The initial outward changes she'd made so many years ago had been a necessary makeover from a security point of view, but a makeover was a makeover for any woman; there was always an element of fun to it. Chloe Sullivan had become comfortable in Vicki Vale's skin over the years. She liked who she was. Loved that she'd found a balance in her new life that at times had been lacking in the old. A life she might never have had if it hadn't been for Lex Luthor. One, if she was honest, she would have regretted not living. As tough as it had been to give up the life she had - the familiar things and the people she held dear – in a way, it was strangely freeing. Sometimes she wondered if she would have done some of the things she'd done and experienced as Vicki Vale if she'd continued being Chloe Sullivan. It was a moot point, but she did wonder, _sometimes_. Particularly when she was on assignment somewhere, either as a reporter or for the League.

Not that there weren't down-sides...

Apart from the separation from people she loved, the loss of the life she'd once thought she would have and getting used to having a new name, there was the superficial aspect. She'd long since admitted Vicki's high maintenance appearance could be a pain in the ass. She still wasn't entirely convinced if she preferred having long hair to short, or vice-versa. Some of the heels Vicki wore had taken considerable breaking in and getting used to. But on the whole she liked her new image and the confidence that came with it. She'd never been vain. Didn't think she ever would. She simply liked to look her best when she could. What woman didn't? There was a sense of normalcy to that she needed, she supposed. The little things every other woman on the planet felt and knew about self-image that put them on similar ground. Knowing that kinda balanced out some of the other aspects of her life she shared with so very few, and the anecdotes from her former life she could never reminisce over with anyone new. But this makeover was different, probably because she was stepping into another role. A role the part of her that was still Chloe Sullivan hadn't prepared for, because she hadn't sat still long enough to think about it. Honestly? She wasn't quite sure she had the skills to pull it off. There hadn't been any research or forward planning for this 'Op'. She was working one-on-one with a member of the team she'd never worked with before in an undercover role. A man she had to convince people she was in love with, living with, sharing her life with, _sleeping with_. A man she supposedly knew as intimately as he supposedly knew her.

Why had she agreed to this? Was she insane?

Breathing deep, she exhaled on a heavy sigh. It had been a long time since she'd looked at her reflection and tried to see herself as others might, beyond the risk of being recognized. Was the woman in the reflection the kind of woman a billionaire playboy would live with? One he would give up his playboy lifestyle for? Vicki wasn't entirely convinced. Not that it was something she'd ever had to think before, or that she particularly wanted to take the time to think about the kind of woman Bruce Wayne might – miraculously – make a commitment to. The woman in the mirror was a charade, on top of a disguise, wrapped around what could all too easily become a bit of an identity crisis. Vicki frowned and gave her doubts a mental shake before rolling her shoulders to shake the additional weight she could feel there. People could think what they wanted. The simple fact was she was living in Wayne Manor, Bruce hadn't been out on the town with any of the actresses, models or usual stunningly beautiful women he normally had draped over him since she'd moved in with him and so long as they managed to give a convincing enough performance for one solitary evening, it didn't matter if she fit the outward image of the kind of woman people might have thought he would play house with one day.

With that in mind, her thoughts turned to the larger problem: The convincing performance...

It wasn't like she was going on a real date with him. So the reason she was feeling a flutter of nervousness in the pit of her stomach had to be related to performance anxiety. If her reaction to the way he'd been with her at the foot of the stairs when he'd finally gotten around to asking her to go to the charity event with him was anything to go by, 'pretending' to be physically attracted to him wasn't going to be an issue. She _was _physically attracted to him. Had been right from the start, if she was honest. Well, at least before his varying different personalities and complete lack of trust started to get in the way. And she wasn't _blind_. Technically, all she would have to do for the sake of the ruse was lower her guard a little. But knowing how she reacted when he turned on the infamous Bruce Wayne charm, complicated things. She couldn't allow herself to get sucked in by make-believe. Not even for a second. She couldn't – no, _wouldn't_ - allow herself to remember how she'd reacted when he'd kissed her. Or anticipate being kissed that way again in the not-too-distant future. If he'd carried out the threat to put more effort into persuading her to go with him, would he have kissed her then? Heaven help her if he put more effort into _that_.

She shook her head again. She needed to snap out of it. What was she doing still standing in front of the mirror anyway? If a full afternoon of primping and preening by specialists and wearing such a beautiful dress didn't have her looking good enough to make Bruce –

She ground her teeth together. No. She didn't care what he thought. It didn't matter. It wasn't a date. It was role-playing, make-believe, and she had an assignment for the Gazette to boot. Lifting the small bag and matching wrap for her dress from the end of the large bed, she turned and left the room; her hand reaching down to lift one side of her skirt before she negotiated the stairs.

Bruce was walking from the study to the hallway as she reached the first landing, dark head bowed as he focused his attention on fastening cuff-links, "Alfred?"

The older man appeared from the kitchen and met him at the foot of the stairs.

"Is Vicki ready?"

Vicki smiled at the question from above. Why on Earth wouldn't she be? Apart from working side-by-side with him in an almost companionable atmosphere down in the cave for a couple of hours before lunch, she'd been gone for most of the afternoon with Alfred, 'getting ready'. Bruce offered to take her and hadn't looked overly pleased when Alfred said he was happy to do it. For a second he'd even looked like he knew they were on some kind of secret mission he wasn't privy to. Technically they were, but his reaction to it had amused Vicki at the time. Still did when she thought about it as he added a terse; "We need to leave in the next -"

"There's no such thing as fashionably late in Gotham?"

"Not when you're the main benefactor and you've been told they won't start the show without you." Bruce's gaze slid upwards for a split second, down to his wrist as he tugged on the sleeve of his jacket into place, then sharply back up.

Stilling as he turned towards her, she felt his gaze slide slowly down her body and back up again; her pulse skipping erratically in response. Remembering to breathe, she rested a hand on the balustrade, lifting a brow in silent question. When Bruce simply stared at her in return, she allowed herself to look him over the same way he had with her. Of course he was devastatingly handsome in black tie. Was there any doubt he wouldn't be? It was probably made-to-measure and worth more than a month of Vicki's Gazette salary. But in the case of Bruce Wayne, it wasn't the clothes that made the man. Oh no. It was so much more than that. He was just so very... _male_... no matter what he was wearing. It oozed from him. Filled the air like some kind of pheromone based cologne.

When her gaze met his again, he was still staring at her. Deciding a speechless Bruce could only be a good thing considering all the options, Vicki continued down the stairs; the material of her long skirt swishing with each step as she lowered her head and concentrated on where she was placing her feet. When she took the last step, she let go of the balustrade and lifted her chin, "Nice tux."

"Nice dress."

"I'm glad you approve," she smiled, "You know... since you paid for it and all."

The words apparently invited him to look her over again. Having stood in front of a mirror for so long, with an almost surreal sense of detachment, Vicki could see what he was seeing from a neutral perspective. A dusky midnight blue with a softer sheen where folds of the material caught the light, the classic, ball gown length dress left her shoulders naked, starting instead with a boned bodice that curved above her breasts in a sweetheart neckline before cinching in at her waist and angling in a low V silhouette to the full, generous taffeta skirts that covered her feet and pooled on the floor behind her. Vicki loved it. It had been sensational on the hanger when she was first shown it; she'd known it was 'the one'. How she _felt _wearing it, was something Bruce couldn't see, nor was it something she could explain to him; at least not without revealing a lot about herself. She could tell him that, in some ways, wearing the dress was the stuff of fairytale princesses. He would probably be highly amused by that. But even he had to know that kind of fantasy was fitting for the woman who was living in a mansion with a billionaire. Gotham High Society wouldn't expect anything else. But there was more to it than that in the realm of things she couldn't tell him. Away from the mirror, with her senses so keen thanks to the presence of the man in front of her, she shifted her focus from the fairytale and concentrated on sensation. How the boned material cupping her breasts, hugging tightly around her ribcage and waist could have been likened to being held in strong arms and crushed against a hard chest; making her vitally aware of every breath she took. How the slide of the full skirts material against her smooth, stockinged legs was akin to the whispered touch of a lover's fingertips; making every step she took a foray into fantasy. Fanciful and romantic maybe, but the truth was, there was a subtle eroticism to wearing the dress that thrummed on a tight, invisible string of femininity deep inside her. A primal reaction, heightened by the presence of a man who was pure male. Add those sensations to how it felt when Bruce's gaze was moving over her body and her physical awareness of him and... well... the word 'wow' seemed to be the only reaction her brain could muster...

Her lips parted on a much needed breath as his gaze traveled back up, lingering on the line of her collar bone and the indentation at the base of her throat, before sliding upwards and following the sweep of her hair.

"You look very beautiful, Miss." Alfred said, breaking the spell.

Without thinking about how it enabled Bruce's inspection of the intricate knot of hair at the back of her head, Vicki turned to smile warmly at her equivalent of a Fairy Godfather, "Thank you, Alfred. You're a sweetheart."

He winked in reply, then turned his attention to Bruce, "Perhaps something from the vault, Master Bruce."

Bruce nodded almost absentmindedly. Then the words seemed to sink in and his gaze shifted towards Alfred, "The vault?"

Alfred lifted a hand and waved his fingers in a pendulum-like motion at the knot of his tie, "To complete Miss Vicki's ensemble."

When he jerked his brows in a heavy hint, Bruce's gaze slid back to her throat. He nodded more firmly, "Whatever you think is appropriate."

"The vault?" Vicki asked.

"Jewelry." Taking a short breath, he looked into her eyes, pushing back the edges of his jacket and shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress trousers, "There will be certain expectations from the Grand Dames of Gotham Society. Particularly since you're the first woman to live with me."

"_Ah_." Vicki nodded in reply, feeling a little stupid for not thinking about the expectation people would have for 'bling'. But since her mind had been occupied with certain other expectations; "About tonight. We should probably talk about -"

Alfred reappeared with a long, narrow velvet case. Stepping between them as Bruce moved back to make room, he laid it on one palm while opening it with his other hand.

Bruce glanced down at it, while Vicki stole a second to study his neatly smoothed hair and how it curved around his ear before touching his collar. Then she caught sight of how his jaw tensed and when she looked at his face he was glaring at Alfred with narrow eyes. What had she missed? Alfred remained unmoved while she looked at the contents of the case. It wasn't the kind of 'bling' she - or the Grand Dames of Gotham for that matter - might have expected, but Vicki wasn't disappointed by that. If anything she was relieved. Alfred had made the best choice as far as she was concerned, and not just from the point of view of removing the pressure of carrying thousands of dollars worth of jewelry around her neck and feeling the weight of every cent. The necklace was simple but exquisite: A single strand of perfect pearls with a small diamond clasp.

Her gaze slid upwards, moving from Bruce's face to Alfred's and back again. She could feel the tension between them. What was going on?

"No point gilding the lily." Alfred said firmly as he held the case higher, "And it matches her earrings."

Bruce took a second for a visual confirmation of the delicate, pearl drop earrings dangling against her neck before frowning as Alfred added; "I'll set the alarms."

With another clench of his jaw, Bruce lowered his chin and looked down at the pearls. He took a deep, measured breath that expanded his broad chest beneath the crisp white of his shirt - as if he had to mentally prepare himself – then silently exhaled and removed his hands from his pockets to reach for the necklace. The second he took it from the case, Alfred snapped it shut and moved away.

Turning his hands over, Bruce allowed the pearls to rest in large palms as he studied them, moving his fingers a little so the hall lights reflected on their opalescent surface. The muscle in his jaw worked as he undid the clasp and lifted his chin; dark eyes focused on the part of her neck where they would rest, "Turn around."

Obeying the gruff demand without question, Vicki pivoted on her heel, her gaze remaining fixed on his face until she couldn't turn her head any more to continue looking at him. She didn't have to lift her hands to move her hair out of the way, didn't have to do anything but stand there and wait, but all that did was increase her awareness of the moment: Of the heavy, almost crackling air in the small gap between their bodies. Her shallow breathing. The thud of her heart against her breastbone as Bruce stepped closer. When his hands appeared over her shoulders, she tensed in anticipation of his touch, chin lowering so she was exposing the nape of her neck to him in what felt distinctly like submission. He took another step closer, body heat warming her naked shoulders, breath whispering against the baby soft down at the upwards sweep of her hairline. Vicki's lips parted as she continued sucking in much needed air while time seemed to slow down. The pearls moved closer to her neck, she closed heavy eyelids and allowed herself to sink deeper into sensation. Then the cool spheres rolled over the skin at the base of her throat, the backs of Bruce's fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin at her nape, every nerve in her body tingled, her mind focussed completely on the point of contact between them, and -

_Pain_.

Vicki gasped. Fought to keep the low moan in her chest. Had to stiffen her spine to stop herself doubling over the arms she wrapped around her waist. And just like that – without any warning - the vision slammed into her frontal lobe: Small, white spheres cascading to the ground, bouncing and rolling on concrete. Not marbles. They weren't marbles. Her heart thundered against the confines of her dress. She'd thought they were marbles when she saw them the first time. When she'd been healing Bruce and felt the pain he carried inside. She'd thought it was a childhood memory of some kind. She'd been right. She was sure of that now. But they weren't marbles. They were pearls.

Warm fingertips spread out against her sensitive skin, his thumbs lingering briefly against her nape below the fastened clasp while Vicki fought the hot tears prickling the backs of her eyelids. Then he let go, and with the break in contact the vision disappeared as fast as it had arrived. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds at most, but Vicki was trembling as she opened her eyes and her hand lifted to touch the pearls. Nothing. The vision was gone. She couldn't feel the pain. But she could still remember everything. Still see it in her minds eye and feel the rippling echoes of residual pain crushing down on her chest. She'd never experienced anything like it before. Had never, _ever_, picked up anything remotely resembling emotion from an inanimate object. Had it come from Bruce, like it did before? Was it the contact with him that had conjured the vision? If that was the case then surely she'd have experienced it on any number of occasions when he'd touched her. Like when their fingers had touched as she handed him the dishes - when she'd been so very aware of his presence beside her - or when he'd touched her face and brushed her hair behind her ear, when his proximity had been so overwhelming she'd struggled to form a coherent thought.

"Vicki?" Bruce's deep voice vibrated the air behind her. He lifted his hands and set large, heated palms against her naked shoulders to turn her around so he could see her face.

She tensed, waiting for the vision to come back. Nothing. Was it the combination of Bruce and the pearls touching her at the same time? No. That couldn't be it. The first time she'd had the vision the pearls hadn't been there. But he had been hurt. Weakened. His body broken. Maybe he'd been more open in his vulnerable state and with his walls down -

"Is something wrong?" He asked in the same low, rumbling voice.

Shaking her head while she scrambled to control the echoing emotions inside her, Vicki stepped away from his warm touch; feeling the chill on her skin as she took a breath and opened her mouth to speak. But she couldn't find words, where would she begin? She didn't know how or why it had happened. And he would want to know. Of course he would. They were too similar when it came to the need to understand things for her not to know that. But she understood Bruce's reaction to the necklace now. What she couldn't understand was why Alfred had chosen it. He shouldn't have. It wasn't fair to Bruce. The memory was still so raw. Her heart ached for him, he carried it so deep, held onto it so tight. What she'd just done was invade his privacy in a way she never would have done on purpose, even if she'd known she had the ability to do it. She felt so guilty, needed to apologize, felt an even deeper need to soothe the pain away in the same way she did when she used her ability to heal physical wounds. But she couldn't do that either, not when he'd told her never to heal him again, even if it wasn't the same thing and she hadn't actually made the promise not to...

When Alfred returned, Bruce nodded and held an arm out to his side in invitation. Vicki walked side-by-side with him along the hallway to the main door, the swish of her long skirts, the steady click of her heels and the accompanying sound of Bruce's footsteps filling the silence while she tried to straighten her thoughts. Alfred was holding open the rear door of the Rolls Royce when they got there, so she lifted one side of her skirt in preparation, then glanced down and saw Bruce's hand waiting for her. She blinked at it. She couldn't voluntarily touch him again. Not yet. It was too soon. She was still trembling, her nerve endings still tingling, what if she was so focused on him that the vision came again? What if she saw more of it? She was barely holding it together as it was. So she ignored his hand and somehow managed to climb inside the car without making a fool of herself or ruining her dress.

A sideways glance at Bruce caught sight of a frown as he disappeared around the back of the car while Alfred leaned in to arrange her skirts around her feet before closing the door. There was an all-too-brief moment of solitude before Bruce opened the other door and slid in beside her, and then, with Alfred in the driver's seat, they pulled smoothly away from the Mansion; gravel crunching beneath the tires as Vicki looked at her reflection in the side window and lifted her hand to tentatively touch the pearls again. Still nothing. No vision. No emotion. Was it part of the changes she'd been experiencing in the last year? Her ability had always been like that. A work in progress. Sometimes she would feel things she didn't understand and had no control over. The time with Lex had helped hone her healing skills, but she'd been free of him for years and had gone back to learning on her own, at a slower pace. Maybe she needed to take time to experiment some so she could figure out what was happening. What had changed. And why.

When she parted her lips to haul a shaky breath into her aching chest, Bruce's deep voice sounded beside her, "You're nervous."

"A little." Turning away from her reflection, she flashed him a brief, somewhat shy smile. He was studying her with the intense, dark gaze she was so used to. Or had thought she was. It was more unsettling when she was trying to hide something so huge from him. If he asked her directly, she didn't know if she could lie to him.

"Just follow my lead."

Nodding, her hand lifted to the pearls again, then dropped to her lap as she focused her gaze on his neat, black bow tie, "Can I ask you something?"

"You're asking for permission?"

When her gaze flickered up to meet his and she found a glint of amusement, she summoned another smile, "I know. Rare occasion..."

"It is." He agreed. There was a moment when it looked like he might smile back at her, but then his tone changed and became more business-like, "You already know how to pretend you're someone else. You've been doing it for years."

"I know." Not that she was pretending with Vicki any more, but she didn't say that, instead she looked at his bow tie again. When she couldn't find the courage to ask the question, she frowned and looked out of the side window at the passing scenery. They sat in silence as the car consumed the distance between the Palisades and Gotham, the dimming light of evening dulling the last of the sunlight as day made the transition to night.

It was when they entered the edge of the city, and traffic began to build up around them, that Bruce spoke again, "You need to keep in mind we're supposed to be romantically involved."

Vicki turned, her gaze immediately seeking his bow tie, as if it had become a kind of comfort zone.

"It will involve you touching me." The low words made her look into his eyes as he added, "which means taking my hand when we get out of the car."

Meaning he'd noticed she'd avoided touching him getting _into _the car. As much of a minefield as it was, she didn't want him to think it was because she couldn't bear to touch him, or was afraid of touching him. It wasn't that. Not that being touched by him could exactly be deemed safe territory either, but...

"I know." She replied.

The answer didn't satisfy him, "It will also involve me touching you."

Vicki's mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry, "I know." She frowned in frustration at her lack of eloquence before adding; I'm fine, Bruce. I've been undercover before."

Studying her for long enough to make it feel like he could see inside her, he leaned over and pressed a button on the door to slide the glass partition into place between Alfred and them. Vicki blinked in surprise as her gaze made contact with Alfred's in the rear view mirror.

When Bruce spoke again, it was in a firmer voice, "Then maybe you'd care to tell me what the problem is."

There was no simple answer to that. Her hand returned to the pearls before she could stop it. Next thing she knew, the question was slipping off the tip of her tongue, "Was this your mother's?"

"Yes."

Looking out the window again, Vicki saw water and knew they were close to their destination. But she had to know, "Were the pearls restrung?"

When Bruce didn't reply, she turned her head, looking at him when he asked; "How did you know that?"

Vicki shook her head at the flat toned question, could tell by his expression he thought it meant she wasn't going to tell him, and told him the truth before he could jump to the wrong conclusions, "I don't know."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. Instinctively she knew he knew that, so she added; "I just... sensed it..."

Bruce's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. It wasn't anywhere near enough of an explanation for him, was it? Pressing her lips together, Vicki tried to find the right words. She'd always known Bruce was guarded, but the one thing she'd learned as she got to know him better was when his tone was as flat as it had been since she'd broached the subject, and while his scrutiny was that intense, it was harder to get through to him. An invisible wall had been raised. Given more than a moment, it would become an impenetrable barrier.

"You're hiding something from me." He said before she could speak. "Why?"

With anyone else, she would immediately have denied it, brushed it off, made a joke or tried to turn the tables on him, but -

When she faltered, he turned his profile to her and her heart ached for the increased distance between them. Less than sixteen hours ago they'd been sat in the kitchen, talking, beginning to open up. It hadn't been the easiest of conversations and there had still been a lot of wariness between them, but they'd held a conversation without confrontation or word-play, and Vicki had liked that. She didn't want to take a step backwards. So she took a deep breath and held it in her lungs as she confessed; "I saw them." Bruce looked into her eyes as she continued, "I saw the pearls scattering and falling to the ground; hitting concrete and bouncing. I don't know how or why I saw them, but I did. I thought they were marbles the first time, but this time -"

"The first time?"

Vicki damped her lips with the tip of her tongue, "When I healed you."

"You had some kind of vision."

"Yes." She grimaced, knowing he still had difficulty with metahuman abilities, even when she could explain them, "That's never happened before."

"But now it's happened twice."

"Yes."

"Why now?"

"I don't know." She wished she did. As much for her own peace of mind as his.

After studying her for a long moment while Vicki silently prayed he wouldn't ask about anything she may have _felt_, he turned on the buttery soft leather of the upholstery and lifted his arm, "Take my hand."

Dropping her chin, she looked down at his large palm, her wide-eyed gaze then snapping up to meet his, "Bruce-"

"Take it."

She shook her head, "I know you don't believe me, but -"

"Take my hand, Vicki. Then you can tell me what you see."

"It doesn't work like that."

"You said you didn't know how it happened."

"I don't, but-"

"Take my hand." He said in a deep, rumbling, impossibly seductive tone. One obviously intended to persuade her to do something she didn't want to do.

Lowering her gaze to his outstretched palm, Vicki swallowed, took a breath and held it, then tentatively lifted her arm. When her fingers trembled as she stretched them out, she folded them into her palm for a second; lifting her gaze for long enough to see he was watching her before she looked down and unfurled her fingers to try again. The vision hadn't returned when he'd touched her shoulders, so maybe it wouldn't this time either. If it did - well - at least this time she would be prepared. Maybe if she had more details Bruce would believe her.

With her hand wavering mere inches from his, she tried to recreate the awareness she'd felt in the hallway as he fastened the pearls around her neck. It didn't take much. The heavy, almost crackling air in the small distance between their bodies, her shallow breathing, the erratic thud of her heart against her breastbone as her fingertips moved closer to his. She tensed in anticipation of the first touch, flexed her fingers a little in preparation, allowed the very tips of them to touch the tips of his and felt the slightest tingle on contact. Then she allowed her fingertips to slide along his; tracing the rise and fall between joints. She felt warmth, but she knew that warmth, it was familiar to her now - despite how infrequently she touched him. His hand remained rock steady while her fingers continued trembling as she waited for a flash of the vision, but as they traced along his palm, the vision didn't come. Instead her lips parted as she continued sucking in much needed oxygen while time seemed to slow down around them. She felt her eyelids growing heavy, allowed herself to sink into the sensation of freely and openly touching him, every cell in her body tingled with sharp awareness while her mind focused completely on the point of contact between them – and then -

Long fingers slowly closed around hers, the increased warmth sending a shiver up her spine as the slightly roughened pad of his thumb brushed the smooth skin on the back of her hand. The heat grew, trickling deeper below the surface into her veins, where it sparkled effervescently in her blood and sent it rushing up her arm to her chest, where her heart beat harder against the increased weight of the breasts trapped inside the confines of a dress that suddenly felt two sizes too small to contain them.

"Anything?" He asked in the same deep, low, impossibly seductive rumble.

Vicki shook her head, her gaze still fixed on their hands and how it felt to have her smaller hand so completely engulfed by his. There was so much strength contained within that large hand, yet he held hers so lightly; as if it was something incredibly fragile.

"No." She whispered. Another answer that wasn't a lie, but wasn't quite the truth either.

"No vision."

Vicki shook her head; mesmerized by the reflected light that sparkled in his eyes, "Not this time."

"Then touching me, and having me touch you, won't be a problem for the next few hours."

"No." She shook her head again, still mesmerized.

The pad of his thumb continued to brush over the skin on the back of her hand, "Good." His thumb stilled, "Because if you flinch every time I touch you, it's not going to help convince people we're involved."

A slow smile crept onto her mouth, "Because women normally melt into a puddle when Bruce Wayne touches them?"

"Are you challenging my talents in the area of seduction?" The light in his eyes glinted dangerously when her gaze tangled with his.

Vicki's smile grew in response, "You're already doing it, aren't you?"

Head angling a little, as if with curiosity, an answering smile twitched temptingly at the corners of his mouth, "Seducing you?"

"Slipping into playboy mode."

The smile that knocked her sideways in the elevator appeared. Had pretty much the exact same result. Then his gaze slid past her and Vicki realized the car was slowing down, "We're here."

_Gotham Hospital Charity Circus – Night:_

By the lapping waters edge of Gotham Harbor, the immense Hippodrome was surrounded by crowds of people partaking of an outside funfair as police cordons separated them from the red carpet entrance where photographers vied for the best shots. Searchlights swept the sky, criss-crossing and parting, flags fluttering on the Hippodrome's oval roof against the darkening sky as a long chain of limos spilled Gotham's finest into the hungry eyes of the press and onlookers. There was no doubting it was the night of the season.

Bruce slid out of the car as Alfred opened the door, smiling at the crowd before he turned and reached a hand out to Vicki. Her fine-boned fingers slipped into his with more confidence than before as she glanced up at him from beneath long lashes and smiled as she got out. Taking a second to smooth her skirts into place, she turned towards him as he tangled his fingers with hers, then she angled her chin, smiled one of the smiles that lit her up from inside, and they stepped forward to face a barrage of flashing cameras. She was good. Not just because she slipped into the role as if they genuinely were involved or because she gave the impression she'd been paraded in front of a similar crowd on numerous occasions - smiling as she turned towards him or pointing things out to him in the crowd - but because it took him a moment to realize how well she played the cameras. Bruce doubted anyone would get a clear picture of her face that wouldn't require sophisticated facial mapping software to identify her. She always managed to turn towards him so they got her profile, to lift her chin higher and angle her head as he looked down at her or to turn more fully towards his shoulder. It hadn't occurred to Bruce how presenting her to Gotham Society in public, and at such a large event, could potentially lead to her being recognized through a gossip column or magazine. She didn't have a mask and cowl to hide behind. Bruce silently berated himself for not thinking of it before; tightening his fingers more firmly around hers as he moved them along the red carpet a little faster than he normally would if he'd been with anyone else.

"I'm surprised you aren't blind by now." She commented as they stepped inside.

"Who said that?"

It earned him a smile in reply before the Gotham Society matrons crowded in around them, Bruce accepted the obligatory air kisses above each cheek, made the necessary introductions, and again Vicki held her own; smiling brightly at each of them, shaking hands, making small talk about the event and how many people were there and what a good cause it was. She even had a handful of invitations to brunches and afternoon teas before Bruce wrapped an arm around her ridiculously small waist and began to draw her away, "Ladies, if you'll excuse us, I think I'll take Vicki inside and find some refreshments."

A liveried escort magically appeared beside them to hand them large, glossy programs and escort them into the main arena. Used for everything from sports events to sales exhibitions to live concerts, the Hippodrome had been transformed into what was, more than likely, one of the largest three ring circuses known to mankind. Instead of the rings being used for different acts to perform at the same time, each one had a separate purpose: The largest was a stage in the center, the others offset from it on the VIP side to act as a dance-floor and reception area where a bar and buffet were laid out, while the other side of the arena had been separated into seating areas that ranged in price from reasonable to ridiculous according to proximity to the main stage.

It was a circus in more than one sense on the VIP side; Bruce and Vicki's escort a welcome addition as he guided them through the expensively dressed me-lee to the ring were refreshments were being served. The thing with Gotham High Society, or the rich and well-heeled anywhere in Bruce's experience, was the sophistication and civility often hid vicious impulses that would rival the most brutal of ancient warriors. Bruce found it hypocritical, even if he was fully aware of his own brutal tendencies. Society was a means to an end for him. Nothing more. He would be ejected from Gotham society in a heartbeat if they knew who and what he was beneath the mask he wore in public.

"There's enough money in here to end Third World debt."

Bruce smiled at Vicki's comment, "I doubt it would occur to them."

"Cynic." She smiled back when he looked down at her, the green in her large eyes glittering brighter than emeralds.

"Realist." He countered. "Altruism is directly linked to appearance in High Society."

"Bruce! There you are!"

When another group of people appeared to surround them, Bruce shook hands and pretended to kiss cheeks again.

"And this must be the mysterious Vicki Vale we've been hearing about."

"I'm afraid there's nothing remotely mysterious about me." Vicki replied with a smile as she moved closer to his side for the sake of appearance and the women looked her over with critical eyes, "Isn't this wonderful? I love the circus."

"Could do without the clowns." Thomas Elliott, who had once been a childhood friend of Bruce's, commented dryly, "Have one too many in Gotham as it is. Lunatic isn't doing anything for real estate prices."

"I'm just glad I buy all my cosmetics from France." Answered the woman at his side, "So inconvenient if you don't. Can you imagine having to live without make-up?"

When she shuddered over-dramatically, Bruce squeezed Vicki's fingers in silent warning in case she was thinking of saying something sarcastic. He smiled down at her, "Some women are just as beautiful without it."

Vicki smiled brightly, "Remind me how that kind of line worked on me?"

"Got to give it to you, Bruce old boy. That move with the free replacement of Wayne Pharmaceutical products was a stroke of genius." Thomas said, "Sales have gone through the roof since you made the guarantee nothing had been tampered with. Shrewd move. Cornered the market at the right time."

"Every cloud." Bruce inclined his head.

Genevieve Vanderton, a stunning heiress Bruce had briefly escorted around town, looked Vicki in the eye, "You're a reporter of some kind, aren't you? Which newspaper was it?"

"The Gazette." Vicki answered.

"You must know Miranda. I love Miranda. She's such fun." She smiled sweetly over the rim of her champagne glass, "And so discreet. If I knew half the things she knows about the people here, I'd have enough hush money to buy Bruce's yacht."

"Worried Vicki might spill the beans on some of your little indiscretions, Genevieve? There'd be enough material there for a trashy Gotham Wives novel, wouldn't there?" Thomas smiled while the rest of his companions laughed.

Genevieve didn't seem as amused as everyone else, "With several chapters devoted to you, Tommy darling."

"That's the beauty of having all your indiscretions made public in the tabloids as they happen." Bruce said with a smile that disguised his lack of interest in the conversation, "No need for an exposé when people have the blow-by-blow."

"Ah, but there'll be no more running off with the entire corps of the Russian Ballet for you, will there?" Thomas winked at Vicki, "Now this lovely woman has you roped and tamed. Next thing we know you'll be settling down and starting a family."

Vicki laughed, "I think we're still a healthy distance from two-point-four kids and a Station Wagon."

"You mean an heir, a spare, a nanny and a chauffeur driven Range Rover." The woman Bruce didn't know corrected, "I don't think Station Wagons are permitted in the Palisades."

"Only when driven by the gardener, darling." Genevieve quipped, "Speaking of gardens. The one at Wayne Manor must have recovered from the re-build by now. You should pitch a marquee and throw a house-warming. I'm sure Vicki would love to play the role of hostess. And there's much less chance of you burning the house down again if we're outside."

Bruce released Vicki's hand long enough to signal a passing waiter and take two flutes of champagne from his tray. He handed one to Vicki as several jokes were made about him burning down the mansion after his thirtieth birthday party while Vicki glanced sideways at him with sparkling eyes, obviously amused by the company he kept in High Society.

"What about it?" He asked her, "Want to play hostess?"

Her eyes widened, "You want to throw a party at the house?"

"Sure. Why not?" He shrugged nonchalantly, "Think of the house-warming gifts."

Glancing briefly at their audience, she turned her head to look at their surroundings and waved an arm out to her side, "I doubt we could top this."

"Fancy dress would be fun." Genevieve said, "You could go as the Batman, Tommy."

"Would make up for the last Bruce Wayne party the Batman crashed." Thomas leaned closer to Vicki, "Not that Bruce was there for all the fun. If we'd known he had a panic room we'd all have been in there."

It was as far as the small-talk got; the lights in the Hippodrome dimming and people leaving to find their seats before the show started. Bruce leaned closer to Vicki when they were escorted to theirs, "And now we can just sit back and watch the show like normal folks."

"Roll up, roll up!" Said a voice from the side of the stage, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the event of the year! We're happy to say tonight's benefit has already raised in excess of half a million dollars for Gotham Children's Hospital. Let's thank our largest single donor: _Bruce Wayne_."

A spotlight dipped downwards on Bruce and Vicki as the audience applauded and Bruce raised a hand to wave in greeting. Vicki leaned closer and spoke through her smile when he was done, "Yep. Just like normal folks."

"This isn't normal?"

When she smiled up at him, Bruce smiled back. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so relaxed in his role as playboy billionaire. As a result, he did something he wouldn't normally have done in front of a date; glancing around them before tipping the contents of his glass in one of the planters beside his seat.

Vicki nodded when he looked at her, "Okay, that makes sense."

"What does?" Tugging the edges of his jacket forwards before leaning back, he casually placed an arm across the back of her chair.

"How you manage to avoid being drunk when everyone thinks you are."

Bruce thought about the day on his yacht when she'd sipped his drink and been surprised it was ginger ale. They'd come a long way since then, "Have you seen this show before?"

"No. Have you?"

"Yes." When she opened her program, he took it from her hands and tossed it on an empty seat, "I'll narrate for you."

Long, dark lashes flickered as she studied each of his eyes in turn, "You weren't serious about a party at the house, were you?"

"Why not?"

"I can think of a few reasons."

"We'll discuss it later."

"But -"

"_Later_." Continuing his role, Bruce moved his arm and let his fingertips skim lightly over her bare shoulder. She shivered in reaction, but her skin wasn't cold to the touch. Was she having another of her so called 'visions'? He frowned a little at the thought while his gaze was drawn to glossy lips as she parted them. He still had questions about what had happened. He knew she knew that. But it wasn't the time or place, so he lifted his gaze and looked into her eyes to make sure she was still with him. Judging by the way she searched his eyes again, she was, so he allowed his gaze to slide over her face. She really was incredibly beautiful. Bruce Wayne the playboy, would tell her that. Apparently the real Bruce Wayne didn't feel like playing his part the way he normally did. Not with her. She wouldn't buy it. Even if it was the truth.

Birdsong sounded over the speaker system, building in volume before footsteps sounded. A man, elegantly dressed in a red velvet coachman's jacket, black brimmed hat and jeweled vest that barely covered his grotesquely protruding belly, appeared on the stage; a large cane in his hand with a light on top reflecting on an almost gargoyle-like painted face as he examined the crowd with disdain. He smiled, leaned back his head and shouted; "_Alegria_!" his laughter sounding as a small marching band began to play a cheery tune, met him at the side of the stage and they made their way into the crowd.

Bruce's focus remained fixed on Vicki as she watched the interaction; smiling softly. He followed her gaze as it shifted to an enthralled child in one of the front rows, saw her smile grow. Then she turned and looked into his eyes, the sight of her fading smile galvanizing Bruce into action. The least he could do was help her enjoy the evening.

"You know what it means." He said loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Alegria?" She nodded, "It's Spanish. It means jubilation."

Reflected light from the stage twinkled in her eyes, as if silently expressing the meaning of the word. She really was something. Bruce wondered why Queen hadn't made a move on her. Or Knox. Then he thought about the roles they were playing on their pretend date to the circus and how anyone watching them would expect them to behave. It was only for a few hours. A few hours to get lost in. To forget about everything else. It occurred to Bruce, he'd never had that opportunity with Rachel. Or any other woman for that matter. He wondered why. Surely he should have wanted that time with Rachel? He silently corrected himself: He _had _wanted it, but it had been something he'd delegated to an intangible point in the future. There hadn't been a desire to 'live in the moment' the way he suddenly found himself wanting to with Vicki. Even the unexplained visions didn't seem to matter to him. They could wait too. Then he thought about how long it had been since he'd relaxed and been himself. Did he even know who was now? He knew what he stood for, the responsibility he shouldered; even his experience with The Joker hadn't managed to make him lose sight of his goals - but beyond that, on a more personal level? Had the real Bruce Wayne died with Rachel? It had felt like it at the time.

But now...

The laughter of the crowd faded into the background, as if he was hearing it from a great distance. Instead he focused on the woman who was looking at him and asked the same questions about her. How long had it been since she'd been herself? Who was she? Did she know? Somehow he knew the answer to the last question was, yes, she knew. Even if there were things she didn't understand about her meta-human abilities, she knew who she was inside. The lines were blurry for Bruce. He examined how he felt right now, in the moment. Here he was, in the company of a woman who, with the exception of Alfred, knew him as well as anyone ever had. She knew about his secret life, that he had more than one persona on more than one level. How comfortable he was with that surprised him.

"Is something wrong?" Vicki asked in a low voice.

Bruce smiled wryly at the question, somewhat unsettled by the concern in her eyes. He wasn't used to that look.

"No." He replied.

It wasn't the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. To distract her from finding any hint of that fact with her inquisitive gaze, he moved his fingers against the soft skin on her shoulder; watching the flare of awareness in her eyes and discovering a sense of satisfaction when he saw it. It was easier to recognize now he knew what it was. And it was nothing to do with the roles they were playing. If it was he wouldn't have seen the exact same thing in her eyes when they were alone in the kitchen.

The lights dimmed. The music changing to a rapid, heavy drum beat that seemed to increase the intensity of the moment. It was almost tribal. An ancient call to arms that echoed inside him. As the sound continued filling the air, it was broken by the additional, sporadic burst of a keyboard and a rhythm kicked in as movement on the stage pulled Vicki's gaze from his and she looked at the performers as they started the introduction to the show. Bruce allowed his hand to move; fingertips dipping inwards at the curve where her shoulder met her neck before he traced the sensitive skin below her ear. In profile, he saw her lashes grow heavy. When she turned to look at him again, he smiled a slow smile. To her it probably looked like he was still playing his role. It would be better if she continuing thinking that. Even if he suddenly felt the desire to take advantage of it...

The sultry, seductive voice of a woman sounded on stage; drawing the audience into her world as Bruce leaned closer, his mouth inches from the delicate shell of Vicki's ear as he spoke; "Keep watching."

Vicki closed her eyes for a second as another wave of sensation washed over her. Dear Lord. No wonder women fell for him when he was playing this role. Was there anything he wasn't good at? She slammed a mental door shut when her imagination felt the need to answer the question in an area it had no business visiting. Swallowing hard, she turned her head and forced her eyes open so she could focus on what was happening on the stage while his deep voice sounded in her ear; "The story they're telling is about power and the handing down of power over time. The evolution from ancient monarchies to modern democracies, old age, youth... but as much as it's about the misuse of power, it's about hope and perseverance. Through a glimpse of the horrors of the past and the possibilities of the future, it's intended to inspire us to be better individuals. To work together with our fellow man..."

She felt his fingertips whisper back down her neck and along her shoulder as he continued, "The White Singer is the storyteller. She echoes in song everything she sees around her; melancholy and despair, joy and happiness..."

Finding it hard to concentrate on anything beyond the fact he was touching her and his voice was rumbling in her ear, Vicki sought out the singer and tried to focus her attention. The white gown the woman was wearing was exquisite. Fairytale like. Underneath a bodice and skirt-frame adorned with jewels and pearls, there were miles of flowing crinoline. With the small antennae on her head she could have been a fairy, even with the absence of wings. But the dress, long white gloves and the way she moved, gave Vicki the impression of a delicate porcelain doll in a jewelry box. Like the one Chloe Sullivan had when she was a little girl. She'd loved that box. Had wound the lever time and time again so she could lie on her stomach on her bed – her chin resting in her hands – as she watched her go round and round in endless circles. What had she been then? Four? Five? It was so long ago. She couldn't even remember who had given her the box. Or where it had gone.

"The figures with feathers dancing in front of her are nymphs. Their dance is supposed to melt the hardest of hearts." Bruce's fingertips trailed over the rounded curve of her shoulder and down her arm, while Vicki found herself sinking closer to his side, melting into him as she told herself she was just playing her role in the same way he was. It wasn't a case of the hardened heart next to her being effected by their ruse in the same way hers could oh-so-easily be. She wasn't that naive.

The gentle creatures danced in front of her, exuding sensuality and beauty as they glided across the stage. Then the singer's voice changed with the music and the painted man who had shouted '_Alegria_' began to high step across the stage, followed by a long line of other painted and costumed performers and Bruce's fingertips began to retrace their way back up her arm, "The man at the front is Fleur; our guide. He can appear fun loving." He leaned a little closer to add in a conspiratorial voice; "But don't trust him. He's unpredictable."

Vicki smiled at the words, wondering if Bruce realized how the description could be used for someone not a million miles away from her. She glanced sideways at him and saw light dancing in the dark pools of his eyes. Oh, yeah. He knew.

"How do you remember all this?" She asked with a sense of wonder; her face dangerously close to his.

"Attention to detail. Keep watching." His fingers stilled as he waited for her to pay attention, then he leaned close enough to her ear for her to feel his breath whispering against her hair as he spoke, "Fleur parades around humoring the Old Birds. They're the ugly guys following him..."

Vicki chuckled softly at the tone he used for the last part.

"The Old Birds observe the goings on as though they're still young and beautiful and the future is still theirs." Long fingers began to move again; up over the top of her arm, along her shoulder, her skin tingling in a heated line everywhere he touched, "They're the old aristocracy. Unwilling to relinquish power to a new generation. Still convinced of their power and beauty."

Except they were twisted, deformed and ugly; wearing fanciful hats and hiding behind flamboyant costumes in rich tones of mauve, green and gold covered with lace, jewels and embroidery. There was a roar from a large man on stage and the Old Birds scuttled away while Fleur echoed the roar and stepped across the stage to large and small figures dressed the same in distinctive gold coats, quilted white trousers and bowler hats that looked like they had little ears.

"The Tamir," Bruce told her. "Magical fairies who appear when they're needed, only to disappear when they've fulfilled their mission. Their sparkling eyes are supposed to be the windows to a generous soul..."

The need to look at him again was too strong, the anticipation of his touch against the sensitive skin of her neck too powerful to ignore. Vicki slowly turned her head and found the tip of her nose mere inches from his, her heart crumpling into a tight ball in her chest as she held her breath while he looked into her eyes. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her with his game of make-believe? No-one could see the way he was looking at her. Not when their attention was focused on the stage and the lights were low, so why was he doing this? Was someone watching them? If she could find the strength to look away from his eyes, she could check.

The music changed on-stage as Bruce smiled another slow, lazy smile, "You're missing the show."

"You're very good at this, aren't you?" Vicki blinked at how breathless her voice sounded.

"Narrating?"

She shook her head, smiling reluctantly as she dragged her gaze from his and caught sight of a man and woman on the stage; the man lifting the woman as they stepped through one of the ornately scrolled picture frames, "Who are they?"

"Aerialists. Synchronized trapeze." When she risked a sideways glance at him, Bruce was looking at the stage, "Husband and wife off stage. They have two sons who perform with the acrobats."

Feeling a little braver when he seemed distracted, Vicki turned her head, "I meant in the show. You were telling me the story, remember?"

Bruce turned to look at her, "I'm supplying you with additional trivia you won't find in the program."

"At no extra cost?" She batted her lashes at him.

"You can thank me later." Tossing another of his effortless knock-a-gal-on-her-ear smiles her way, he glanced briefly at the performers before adding; "Personally, I think knowing they're married adds something to the performance." He lifted the hand that wasn't resting against her arm and used his fingers on her chin to turn her face towards the stage before tilting it upwards, "Watch."

Now perched on their individual trapezes, the two aerialists began swaying back and forth, higher and higher, in the air above them. It was hypnotizing.

"_Vai, vai bambino vai vedrai, vai._.." Sang the White Singer; " _Vai, vai piccino vai vedrai, vai Vedrai_..."

With her gaze fixed on the aerialists, Vicki asked, "What does it mean?"

"The words of the song?" His deep voice sounded close again.

Vicki nodded as the couple above them began performing in a display of harmony and beauty; defying the laws of gravity with mid-air twists and maneuvers.

"Not as accomplished with Italian as you are with Spanish, I take it."

Forgetting for a moment who she was with, Vicki playfully elbowed him, then realized what she'd done and glanced sideways to read his response. If she didn't know any better she would say he looked amused.

"I'll tell you if you keep watching." He said.

As she looked upwards again, the fingertips on her arms traced a circle while he spoke, "Go, go child, go, you'll see... go, go little one... you'll see...." The familiar deep voice continued translating as the singer sang and Vicki watched, "You'll see where fortune walks. You can't reach there with the heart any more. Only with your feet on the moon."

There was applause from the audience as the aerialists completed an impossibly graceful turn in the air. Without the additional information Bruce had supplied there would have been no way to know they were married, let alone old enough to have children who in turn were mature enough to perform themselves. Youthful and free, they moved in perfect sync. Became one. It was incredibly romantic. Add what she was seeing to the words she could hear spoken in her ear and it was also incredibly seductive.

"Oh my child, you'll see. Go and you'll see that a smile often hides a great sorrow..."

Vicki turned to look at him again, the words resonating as he smiled. She thought about the pain she'd felt earlier. How his smile hid a great sorrow.

"Go and you'll see the madness of mankind. Madness of mankind... without rightness."

The madness he'd seen. That he fought. The song could have been written for the man beside her. While the singer lingered on a plaintive, '_Follia_', Vicki felt herself drawn to him with a magnetism that was hard to resist. More than compulsion, it felt as imperative to her survival as the air she kept forgetting to breathe. How was he doing that? In some distant corner of her mind where rationale and common sense normally lived, a very small voice was reminding her not to get sucked in by the romance of a moment that wasn't real. She should listen to it, but she couldn't, it seemed so very far away. And Bruce was right there, beside her, closer than she'd allowed any man in a very long time. Somewhere in another part of her brain she realized she could only hear the singers voice. He'd stopped translating. Was simply looking at her as she looked at him. Her heart stopped, then beat faster to make up for the deficit as another, more dangerous realization hit her. She could _not _fall for this man! He was the kind of guy a girl didn't get over in a hurry. _If ever_.

A momentary flash of fear must have shown in her eyes. Bruce frowned before turning his profile to her as he looked up at the aerialists. Vicki should have done the same thing. She knew that. But the opportunity to look at him when he wasn't looking at her, was too tempting. What was it about him that felt so different? Had something changed or was he so skilled at 'let's pretend' that she'd done what she'd sworn she wouldn't and allowed herself to be sucked in by the game of make-believe?

"_Vai, vai bambino vai vedrai, vai..._" Sang the White Singer, ""_Vai, vai piccino vai vedrai, vai Vedrai..._"

Vicki looked up as the aerialists continued soaring gracefully in the air, twisting and turning like flying ballet dancers. She wondered what it was like to have that kind of symmetry with someone. They'd probably rehearsed and performed together a thousand times, but they also lived together, had raised a family together. Did they have the same harmony of movement as a couple? What would it be like to have that with someone? Maybe it was the perception of getting a glimpse into their relationship that did it. Maybe it was the plaintive tone of the music. Maybe it was the silent admission of how hard she could fall for a man like Bruce, if he were to allow her close enough for it to happen and if she could get past the fact it would be a road to nowhere. Whatever the reason, in a large arena brimming with people and with Bruce so close by her side, Vicki felt a wave of longing and sadness for the empty place she could feel inside. She envied the people above them. Hoped they knew how fortunate they were to have found each other.

As their performance came to an end, she lowered her chin and looked down at the hands she had clasped in her lap. They felt redundant. She wished she had the program to flick through so she had something to focus on while she felt so vulnerable. When Bruce shifted a little beside her as the music changed and another act began on stage, she stole another glance at him; a smile growing in her chest and making it's way to her lips as she saw his expression change. What had him so alert all of a sudden? He was lacking the usual coiled tension he normally had when he was sensing danger, so that wasn't it. She followed his gaze to the stage where one of the nymphs was unfolding her feathered wings as something happened to the stage. It was opening up. There was a sense of anticipation in the music. Then a crowd of performers appeared.

When Bruce looked at her, she lifted a brow.

"The Bronx." He explained, "They're the next generation; young and tough. Individually and as a gang, their acrobatics are a measure of their power. Their strength and energy is representative of the celebration of youth."

Vicki turned her attention to the stage again, unable to hold his gaze for long. What she saw there made her smile. There was a cockiness, an arrogance to the performers as they began to display their skills. It reminded her a little of certain members of the Justice League, back in the early days. They'd been so confident in what they could do together, so determined to make a difference; that same arrogance of youth.

The opening in the stage had become a criss-crossed trampoline fast-track for the performers, helping them to soar in the air as they executed lively gymnastic and tumbling displays in unison and in counterpoint, reaching astounding heights and speeds. There was a roar of applause from the audience as they came to the end of the first part of their display, and then the music changed to a slower, more seductive tone; the White Singer's voice sounding first, then joined in harmony by a singer in black. The White Singer's alter ego, Vicki presumed. As the tumbling became increasingly graceful, technical and higher, with each performer seeming to try and out-do the one that preceded them, she stole another glance at Bruce and was again surprised by his expression. Turning her head, she continued watching, more fascinated by him than what was happening with the acrobats. He was riveted, dark eyes sparkling with enthusiasm and interest. She glanced at the stage again as one of the performers executed an impossible, twisting, multiple somersault high in the air before landing in a roll and jumping agilely to his feet.

"That kid is amazing."

Vicki smiled at the comment she had to lean closer to hear. One she wasn't sure Bruce was aware he'd said aloud. "Taking mental notes?" She asked.

"Hmm?" He turned his head and looked at her, then smiled his most devastating smile and glanced around them before leaning closer to speak into her ear, "The cape would get in the way."

She blinked incredulously when he leaned back enough for her to see his face, "I don't get you, Bruce Wayne."

"Me?" He turned on the playboy charm, "I'm easy. Especially after a couple of Martini's."

"Oh no, you don't. The glib, cavalier routine, doesn't wash with me." She angled her chin before lifting it an inch and studying him thoughtfully, "You look at these performers and see beyond what they can do, right?" It was suddenly clear to her; "You know what it takes to do it. The skill involved. The dedication. The perseverance. You respect them for it. And at the same time there's a part of your brain..." She leaned closer so she could lower her voice the same way he had, "... applying the uses of their talents to what you do and figuring out how fast you can teach yourself to do it."

When she leaned back again, Bruce shook his head; a gleam of amusement in his eyes, "Nah. I'm too old for all that."

"Liar."

Bruce's expression changed, he looked at the acrobats as they completed another series of twists and tumbles and graceful moves in the air, and then – as their act came to an end – he looked at her again; with an expression closer to the Bruce she found hardest to read, "You know me better than you think."

Before she could comment on that, he switched back to the role of charming host. So Vicki sat through the hand balancing act where a young man from Ukraine used his incredible strength along with great abilities in ballet and contortion movements to execute slow figures on canes of different heights. Then the tribal and magical fire knife dance; an authentic ritual performed to the pulsing rhythm of Congo drums by an artist weaving baton-like flaming knives around his entire body from his feet to his palms to his mouth in a dangerous dance. And all the while, Bruce's voice continued to rumble in her ear, telling the story, his large body close to hers, his fingertips occasionally tracing over her skin. She tried to focus on what he was saying and what she was seeing. When that wasn't enough to distract her from his proximity and his touch, she focused on the stage and how the props used Gothic arches and harsh angular designs to invoke a feeling of oppressiveness, while the tone of the music created visions of traveling minstrels on ancient European thoroughfares where the characters played out their lives. Half the time, the show felt like it was contrasting classic performance art dimensions; fair & ugly, clumsy & graceful, male & female. The other half it was pure entertainment in the form of magic and muscle, inertia and gravity. Then there were the times she couldn't tell whether they were telling a story or not, let alone whether the costumes indicated male or female. Without a deep, guiding voice and the focus point of fingertips touching skin, Vicki's mind might have scanned harder for coherence, sometimes catching it briefly, sometimes giving up and just enjoying the physicality and the music. But the mesmerizing imaginary world stretched beyond the stage for her. It surrounded them. Made it feel like there was no-one else there. And no matter how she tried, Vicki couldn't escape that feeling. Or how much she liked it.

It was only when the clown appeared on stage that Bruce changed. She felt it before she saw his body tense. And it was enough to give her a reason to look into his eyes again.

"They're supposed to reflect the eternal spirit of mankind." He told her flatly as he looked at her, "Witnesses to the passing of centuries. Acting as social commentators, telling stories of everyday existence where everyone is a hero, and anyone can fall in love and suffer a broken heart. Philosophers of absurdity, child like..." He smiled wryly, "But I doubt anyone here sees them that way any more. Every clown is closer to the Stephen King version thanks to The Joker."

Leaning back, he removed his arm from the back of her chair, glanced over his shoulder, then stood up and reached out a hand to her, "We'll beat the crowd to the half-time refreshments."

They did. But not by much. There was already a handful of people who had chosen to watch the show from the smaller rings. But by the time they'd explored the buffet, made the required small talk with random fund-raisers, members of society and local politicians thinking ahead when it came to donations for their re-election campaigns, Bruce's attention was wandering in a way it rarely did when he had to add to the conversation to make up for the vacuous comments of his date for the evening. Vicki could hold her own, no matter who she was talking to. Bruce suspected several of the people they'd talked to were wondering what in hell a woman so obviously intelligent was doing with a playboy like him. Then something caught his eye. At first he thought it was dangerously similar to one of the mime's from the Halliday Plaza attack. Then the crowd shifted and whoever it was disappeared. When he looked around, for a split second he thought he saw a clown with green hair. Then the crowd shifted and he realized it _was _a clown with green hair... and a large red nose... who was performing party tricks with colored silks.

Vicki squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to the conversation, but since he'd switched off for too long to give the impression he'd been following it, Bruce grinned at the people around them, "I believe the dance-floor is calling us."

When he started to draw her away, Vicki smiled apologetically, "It was lovely to meet you Mrs. Barclay, Mr. James, Mr. Nygma... I'm sorry, did I pronounce that right?"

"C-c-call me Edward," the small man stammered.

"Edward it is." She nodded, then turned to Mrs. Barclay before they were out of earshot, "I'll get Miranda to call you about your daughter's engagement announcement."

Closer to the ring being used as a dance-floor, Bruce adjusted his stride to allow her to catch up with him, looking down at her at the same time as she looked up at him. She arched a recriminating brow, "You could at least pretend to listen to what people are saying to you. Edward asked you a direct question and you completely ignored him."

"No." Bruce corrected. "He _tried _to ask me a question. Mrs. Barclay apparently thought he was taking too long to complete a sentence. She was much more interested in dominating the conversation with minute details about her daughter's fiancé and his distant attachment to European royalty."

Vicki laughed, her smile lighting her up from within in the way Bruce liked best, "That's true. But just think. If a hundred and thirty four people died in freak accidents all across the world within the next eighteen months, her daughter would be marrying a man who would be fifteenth in line to rule an obscure principality."

"I've met him. He couldn't rule a straight line."

"Oh my God." Vicki stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him with a stunned expression, "Was that an off-the-cuff, completely unrehearsed joke? Wouldn't you need a sense of humor for one of those?"

When she blinked innocently, the short burst of deep laughter sounded unfamiliar, even to his own ears. Bruce shook his head, tugged on her hand and brought them closer to the edge of the dance-floor, "Come on. I once read we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once."

"Nietzsche." Vicki nodded approvingly with a pout of her lower lip as he swung her round, wrapped an arm around her waist and merged them into a sea of moving bodies, "Hmmm... surprising choice of reading material for someone many people here probably don't know _can _read..."

"Quote of the day on my desk calender."

"Which suggests you spend time at a desk..."

"Everyone needs somewhere to unfold the playmate of the month."

When she rolled her eyes, he heard another low burst of laughter. Then her expression changed, she angled her head and considered him with glowing eyes before telling him;, "You should do that more often."

He knew she meant the laughter, but he didn't agree or disagree, instead he brought the hand he was holding to his shoulder so he could wrap her in both arms and draw her closer before swaying them in time to the hypnotic music being played from the show they'd been watching. The fine boned hand on his shoulder moved a little closer to his neck, her other hand lifting to rest on his upper arm while she avoided his gaze and looked around them. Bruce waited, watching her, wondering if she was scanning the crowd the same way he did and if she saw dangers that weren't there the way he had. It was an occupational hazard after all; better to look and be aware of approaching danger than not to look and have it arrive when you were unprepared. Instinctively he knew, she knew that. Checking his surroundings was something he normally did without thinking, but tonight, with her, there had been moments when he'd had to remind himself to do it. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened...

The first time she looked up at him, she didn't hold his gaze for long. The second time, she held it for a little longer. The third attempt was accompanied by the tip of her tongue damping her lips as if she was about to say something. Bruce Wayne the playboy would have done something to seduce her in the none-too-subtle manner that had earned him a slapped face on more than one occasion. Perhaps something about dancing being the closest thing to making love in public...

With a slight lift of her chin, she shifted her gaze, tangled it with his, held on – and Bruce was transfixed; his thoughts about dancing feeling less like a crass method of seduction and closer to the truth as their bodies swayed in sync - as if they'd danced hundreds of times before. Even while he'd been watching, danger had approached, and he'd been unprepared. For the first time in longer than he cared to remember, he struggled to find words when words were needed to avoid something happening that would be better left alone.

"Alfred was right." He heard himself say.

A gentle smile drew his gaze to her mouth as her lips formed the question, "About what?"

Bruce leaned closer, "How you look."

Giving in to temptation, he dipped his nose closer to her temple, slowly inhaling. Her scent was sunshine. A midsummer day. Flowers in full bloom. She was day to his night, while her body moved with his as if they'd merged into one. Vicki lifted her cheek as if issuing a silent invitation to be kissed there, but Bruce shifted his attention to the other temple and breathed deep again; heightening the sense of anticipation. He could tell himself their audience would expect it. That it was simply part of the ruse. But -

"_Bruce_." She exhaled his name.

It could have been a plea to stop, but somehow it translated to him as 'I want you'. When she leaned back a little and looked up at him, it felt like she was waiting for him to understand, to get the message she was trying to silently send. He went still for a moment. Searched her eyes. Then he angled his head and leaned forwards, his mouth hovering over hers as he watched the play of emotions crossing her expressive eyes. One at a time they were getting easier to decipher, but the knack of reading them when they were so mixed up was still beyond his reach. It would probably take a lifetime to understand the nuances. More time than he could give her. Time she deserved. But with a complete certainty borne of instinct alone, Bruce knew nothing he could see resembled doubt. She was giving herself to him. Would be led by the decision he made in the next few seconds. It was a surrender. And it garnered a momentary sense of elation in Bruce that made him want to throw his head back and yell in victory. Instead, he surrendered to the need that had been building inside him for longer than he cared to admit. He closed the last of the gap between their mouths and took his time kissing her, paying particular attention to her lower lip, before sweeping his tongue in to taste her addictive sweetness. The second she joined the sensual dance things changed - the low, throbbing ache of need within him transformed into a rush of raw desire by her response. When he deepened the kiss, she fanned the flames; kissing him as if she was starving and he were a feast, as if she were dying of thirst and he was a cool drink of water. There was no way Bruce could fight it, he couldn't help but devour her right back.

While one hand lifted to curve around the slender column of her neck, he tightened his arm around her waist, brought her body as close to his as their clothing would allow, leaned over her just enough to allow her to arch her back and press against him if she wanted. She moaned into his mouth; the vibration humming through his body. He wanted more. Sought more. _Demanded it_. She gave it to him; her fingers threaded into the short hair at the nape of his neck, her hand gripping the sleeve of his jacket in a tight fist. It was only when she moved her lower body against his in an attempt to get closer that he had to force himself to break free of the hold she had on him. They were in public. In a crowd. Even the playboy wouldn't have shown so little respect for the woman he was with. But the man who had been denied for so long fought for freedom. Bruce had never lost control to the extent where, if they'd been anywhere in the vicinity of a bedroom he'd have taken her without a single thought of the repercussions.

It took a lot to drag his mouth from hers. She would never know how much it took. Or what it cost to say the words he said as he leaned his forehead against hers;

"Well done. That should be convincing enough for everyone."


	13. Chapter 13

Once again a HUGE THANK YOU for all the lovely comments! I'm blown away by how many of you are reading this story and thanks to all your comments, I keep coming back to this story even when life gets in the way. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

**Chapter Thirteen.**

_Gotham Hospital Charity Circus – Night:_

Bruce stepped back from Vicki, feeling the excruciatingly slow slide of her hands from his shoulders as the distance between them increased. Long lashes hid her gaze from his while she focussed on the knotted bow tie at the base of his throat. Bruce realized he didn't like it when she did that. He wasn't enough of a romantic to believe eyes were the windows to someone's soul, but in Vicki's case they were certainly more than a fleeting glimpse into what she was thinking and feeling: A rare and refreshing lack of guile he found he needed more than he wanted to in that moment. But he'd brought that sense of ever increasing distance upon himself, hadn't he? Immediately part of him felt an inexplicable need to make amends. A larger part of him insisted it was best left alone. It was pointless pursuing anything. She was the kind of distraction that could cause him to make mistakes. He would have something to lose again.

Narrow shoulders lifted and fell as she took a deep breath, then she raised her chin, her gaze shifted sharply upwards and Bruce saw a shutter slamming shut on the expressive sparkling green he'd become so familiar with. When she pinned a smile on her kiss-swollen lips that didn't make its way to her eyes, he felt his feet take an involuntary step forwards in reaction, as if the part of him that wanted to make amends was reluctant to allow her to say anything that would make even more of a lie of what had happened between them than he already had. It was too late to turn back the clock, in more ways than one. But before he could make the mistake of taking his words back or choose the safer option of saying something to lighten the mood and put them back where they'd been before they danced, they were interrupted by the sound of a throat being loudly cleared.

"May I?" Thomas Elliott smiled at Vicki and offered her an upturned palm in invitation.

"I'd love to," Vicki smiled a more genuine smile as she slid her hand into his and stepped forwards.

Standing still, Bruce watched them move closer together; Vicki's hands on Elliott's shoulders as he circled her waist with an arm, they began to sway to the music and merged into the crowd. Dancing: Once said to be the vertical expression of a horizontal desire, legalized by music. Bruce tried to remember who had said it, but was too busy fighting the primal need to stride across the dance-floor and reclaim her to search his memory. Clenching his jaw and forcibly dragging his gaze from them, he instead took a walk around the large room. Avoiding anyone who might talk to him in favor of his usual role of silent observer. But even as he took mental notes of the exits, the private company of security guards on patrol and anything that might have looked out of place, his errant gaze repeatedly sought Vicki in the crowd. She'd stopped dancing with Elliott, the man taking on the role of escort in Bruce's absence. There was nothing untoward in that on the surface. Yet Bruce could hear the words he'd said to her echoing in his mind as he fought a rising sense of frustration at his feral reaction to another male treading on what was widely accepted as Bruce Wayne's territory. He'd told her their kiss should have been convincing enough for anyone. Trouble was, it had been all too convincing for _him_. The impression he'd purposefully given her was completely at odds with the unfounded, but nonetheless determined, 'mine' echoing inside him when his gaze was continually drawn back to her and he watched what was happening.

When Vicki laughed at something and Elliott leaned closer to her, Bruce frowned, convinced he could hear her musical laughter over the noise of the crowd. When Elliott felt the need to touch her, even lightly, Bruce felt his fingers curling into his palm and tightening with every touch that followed. It didn't take much: Her hand held for a few seconds longer than it needed to be, fingers around her elbow to guide her to meet someone new, a palm to the small of her back as he leaned in closer still to listen to what she was saying over the ambient noise. But every single touch, every millimeter the man moved closer to her, earned a resounding - and getting louder by the minute - '_mine_' inside Bruce. He needed to get a handle on it before he blew his playboy-couldn't-care-less cover and felt the need to walk over and punch the man who, ever since childhood, had wanted whatever Bruce Wayne had.

On his way back across the room, Bruce made a point of lifting a glass from a passing tray and stumbling into a few people. The fact no-one looked surprised placed Elliott closer to the ground with every step he took. What placed him within a hair's breadth was the sight of a hand on the inward curve of Vicki's back... sliding lower... What saved him was Vicki, her head turning as Bruce stepped within hearing distance while she issued the warning: "That hand goes so much as an inch lower and you'll be wearing this glass of champagne."

Bruce controlled a smile before making his presence known, "Show's about to start again. Don't s'pose you remember where our seats are, sweetheart?"

As they turned to look at him, Elliott's hand dropping to his side, Bruce frowned in mock concentration, held his arms out to his sides, bent forward a little and turned a circle, "I know we left them here somewhere..."

When a wave of his arms sloshed champagne over the rim of the glass, Vicki stepped forward and took it from his hand. She knew what he was doing. It was all part of the act. But she'd be damned if she was going to play along with it. Not after the stunt he'd pulled on the dance floor. She'd never been so humiliated. And if he thought for a single second she was going to allow a drunken billionaire to publicly paw her -

Ducking gracefully out of the way when a long arm was swung nonchalantly in the general direction of her shoulders, she grabbed hold of his jacket at the elbow and tugged him away as she smiled over gritted teeth, "This way, _darling_."

With a move so fast she didn't have time to react, Bruce had his elbow free and the weight of his arm was across her shoulders, drawing closer to his side as he grinned at anyone who stepped out of their way, "Senator... Mister Mayor..." He tripped to a halt and took a half-bow, "_Mrs. Mayor_..."

Vicki smiled weakly at them before placing her palms on his back and pushing his large body into motion, her voice low when they'd taken a few more steps, "Wouldn't this act be more convincing if you'd showed signs of being drunk ten minutes ago?"

"You think someone who drinks as much as Bruce Wayne can't toss a few doubles back when you're not looking?" He reached an arm out and grabbed a woman's arm to turn her so he could lean in and slur, "Hey beautiful. Wanna dance?"

The woman glanced warily at Vicki, who smiled brightly in response, "I think the lady would prefer to keep her toes intact."

They were close to the edge of the smaller ring when Bruce tried to turn her back towards the dance-floor, his voice louder. "Then you'll dance with me..."

"No." Vicki replied firmly, "I'm done dancing with you."

Ducking down a couple of inches, she freed herself of his arm and twisted away from him, hissing below her breath as she looked around them, "What are you doing?"

Bruce leaned his face closer to hers, "Exactly what's expected of me."

Taking a moment to search his eyes and discovering the glitter of danger she associated with Batman, Vicki knew he was as sober as she was and – _angry _about something? She shook her head. It was all part of the act. She should have expected this behavior from him at some point during the evening. Even so, she couldn't shake the sensation that an invisible switch had been flipped and the man in front of her was a stranger all over again. She hated that he was being like this. She hated that he'd kissed her the way he had, she'd responded the way she had, and then he'd said the words that had yanked her forcefully out of the fantasy she'd succumbed to. But most of all she hated how much it hurt. It felt like he'd rejected her, which was ridiculous, for many reasons. Not least of which was the fact, in order to feel rejected surely she would have to –

Vicki frowned. No. She didn't want _him _any more than he wanted _her_. So what if there was some kind of pheromone based response to such blatant testosterone? It was a chemical reaction, nothing more. Just because they'd been getting along better didn't mean –

Shaking her head again, she turned away from him. He probably kissed every woman that way. It didn't mean anything. The fact he'd elicited such a – _needy _– response from her was simply the result of his much practiced skill coupled with her lack of experience when it came to sexual attraction on a purely physical level. They weren't even friends for crying out loud! Their working relationship was tentative at best. Just because she'd felt a connection to him through her metahuman ability that she'd never felt with anyone else didn't mean –

She swallowed to loosen the sudden tightness in her throat. Damn him. She really didn't want to be there any more. Playing 'let's pretend' for the rest of the performance was going to be torture. Childishly, it felt like he'd ruined it for her. A rare respite from the darkness they both spent so much time fighting. Something Vicki realized she'd needed more than she'd admitted to herself. Had Bruce been a different man, he might have needed it too.

The air beside her displaced a second before warm fingertips brushed against the skin on her arm in the same gentle, seductive whisper as before; when he'd been narrating with a low rumble into her ear. It felt like a lifetime ago. But even with her heart stinging with a combination of humiliation and what still felt like the pain of rejection behind the wall she was erecting to guard it, her disobedient body tingled in response to his touch. So she stepped away, her voice low as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye; "Don't."

"Vicki –"

He hesitated for a split second, as if uncertain how to approach her. But she shook her head again, her voice more determined; "Just. _Don't_."

Without looking back, she lifted her skirt and walked back to their seats, making a point of finding her program and opening it to the second part of the show so she could read what was going on rather than having to listen to his deep, rumbling voice again. Glancing around at the crowd as she felt Bruce take his place beside her, she found Miranda's gaze on her. The older woman looked concerned, so Vicki smiled and nodded, silently conveying that she was okay. Miranda didn't look convinced. The fact she looked like she pitied the woman who'd been forced to step on her toes professionally didn't help any either.

"Congratulations," she said coolly when she couldn't take the silence any more, adding an explanation when he didn't ask what he was being congratulated for, "if you were trying to sow the seeds of our inevitable break-up, you just did one heck of a job. There's no way any woman with an ounce of self-respect would put up with this version of you."

"I wouldn't expect her to." He answered in a flat voice.

Lifting her program, Vicki attempted to read the words without their meaning being clouded by her continual awareness of his presence. It wasn't easy. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he had an inherent knack for commanding attention. Once met, never forgotten; in any guise. It was a depressing thought. In the end, she gave up, silently admitting she wasn't kidding anyone – least of all herself – when it came to leaving things alone. Setting the open pages on her lap, she stared into the middle distance while she tried to figure out why she was so angry with him. Was it really _him _she was angry with? He wasn't behaving any differently than he normally did. The tabloids were full of stories detailing the exploits of playboy Bruce Wayne's drunken antics. They frequently took up as many lines in print as some of Batman's adventures. Why would he be any different with her? They weren't even together the way people thought they were. It was a lie. Like so many things in both of their lives. Somewhere in her addled brain, the question arose of what that must be like for him. He switched roles so seamlessly, but surely it couldn't be easy? On top of everything else there was the name he carried on his shoulders. His father had been highly respected; the Wayne family name as synonymous with Gotham as the Rockefellers were with New York. Without his dual identity, Vicki instinctively knew Bruce could have publicly lived up to the family name. He could now, if he chose to, but in order to protect Batman and the path he had chosen for the greater good of Gotham's inhabitants he'd sacrificed more than just a name, hadn't he? Vicki could understand that. Empathize with it.

_Damn it_. Why couldn't she just dislike him and leave it at that?

Lowering her chin, she clasped her hands together on top of the open program and frowned in thought. Just because a very small part of her had been sucked in by the faux romance of the evening didn't mean she should punish him for it. It wasn't his fault. She knew what they were doing. Why they were doing it. How things would end. The very small part of her that had felt rejected might not like it much, but it was what it was.

"It can't be easy," she eventually said in a low voice.

His voice was equally low in reply, "What can't?"

"Carrying the Wayne name and spending so much time shaming the reputation that preceded you." She glanced sideways at him, "I'm sorry."

Bruce frowned in what could have been interpreted as confusion, if he'd been anyone else, "What for?"

"For what I said about any woman with an ounce of self-respect not putting up with you," she turned towards him. "We both know that's not true."

It took a moment, but Vicki saw the second he understood she was referring to Rachel. She recognized the cloud in his eyes before it literally disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Turning his profile to her, Bruce took a deep breath; a muscle in his jaw working while he watched the crowd. Then, "It's not who you are underneath... but what you do that defines you..." He looked into her eyes, "She said that to me before she knew what I was doing. But even when she knew, the playboy wasn't someone she had any respect for. Like I said," a corner of his mouth tugged wryly, "I wouldn't have expected her to." He turned his profile to her again, "she deserved something more."

"She knew you were something more." Vicki held her breath when the words slipped off the tip of her tongue. It wasn't that she didn't think they were true. It was the fact she was crossing the line again that made her cringe inwardly. If there was one lesson she'd learned in her time with him, it was that Bruce Wayne said what he wanted to say when he wanted to say it. He wouldn't be pushed or cajoled or persuaded by a demonstration of empathy. If he chose to share any kind of information with her, there was a reason for it. Though that did kind of beg the question of why he just had...

Turning his head, his gaze searched hers. When he turned his profile to her again without saying anything, Vicki searched frantically for something to say that would continue the softly spoken conversation. For something that would make him understand what it meant to her that he'd talked about Rachel, however briefly.

"He switched addresses," he said in a flat, emotionless tone.

A chill ran down Vicki's spine, "What?"

"The Joker," he glanced at her, then turned his attention to the crowd. "He switched addresses." His alert gaze took in everything that was happening around them as he continued, "He said Dent was at 250, 52nd Boulevard. He wasn't. Rachel was."

Vicki's heart crumpled into a tight ball in her chest as pain sliced through her in the same way it had at the mansion when Bruce had fastened the pearls around her neck. She'd read the reports. Batman had pulled Dent from the flames; horrifically scarred, but alive. Some had said it was Batman who'd caused the injuries, that without him there would never have been a Joker determined to take on Gotham's vigilante - the city's population would never have been caught in the crossfire if he hadn't been there. But the truth – _Dear God_ – the truth was he'd been trying to save the woman he loved. He'd raced to get to her while Gordon sped to the address where Dent was supposed to be. But the Joker had switched addresses. Had done it on purpose. If Batman had got to Rachel as fast as he got to Dent...

"_Bruce_-" she couldn't get any further than choking out his name. It was cruel beyond belief. How had he survived something like that?

"Guess the joke was on me." He said in the same emotionless tone.

Vicki's vision blurred. She tried to blink the unshed tears away when he looked at her, saw him frown, turn away again - and the need to reach out to him was so strong it slayed her. She didn't know why he'd told her. Doubted he'd talked to anyone about it since it happened. But he wouldn't appreciate what he might perceive as pity, or at best sympathy. She hadn't known Rachel, so how could she possibly share in his pain?

Without thinking, she reached out and threaded her fingers through his where they resting against his thigh. The muscles beneath his dress trousers tensed in reaction. He looked down at their hands, lifted his gaze and looked into her eyes, frowned harder, but Vicki didn't retreat. She sat completely still, her hand in his, her gaze steady and unwavering as she forced herself to be strong on the outside while her heart continued to ache for him. If he chose to pull away she would understand. But she wanted him to know he wasn't alone, even if it was just for a moment. There was someone who understood what he'd lost. And what it took to keep going.

When the lights lowered around them indicating the second half of the show was about to begin, Bruce turned his gaze towards the stage, so Vicki did the same. He didn't move his hand. Vicki left hers where it was.

The White Singer walked through the seated crowd, eventually picking a male audience member to dance on stage with her. While they danced, long fingers folded around finer boned fingers, lightly holding them in place as the ache in Vicki's heart began to ease a little. They didn't look at each other, didn't say anything, but she couldn't remember ever feeling closer to another human being than she did in that moment. Something else she would never forget...

The spell lasted all the way through the Flying Man; a virtuoso who defied gravity and explanation with a powerful and graceful performance combining the elasticity of a bungee with the power of gymnastic rings and soaring through the air performing acrobatic feats. When Bruce looked at Vicki she stared back at him, more transfixed by the intensity of his gaze than she was by what was happening on stage. He looked at her the same way a second time, for a little longer, while sure-footed flyers performed multiple synchronized somersaults and mid-air twists at unbelievable speed when launched from Russian bars in an act that more than likely required the kind of concentration Vicki had focused on Bruce and a mutual trust similar to the one she believed she could feel. Maybe she was fooling herself about that, allowing herself to be sucked into another fantasy. But it didn't feel that way. It felt, by confiding in her – regardless of his reason for doing it – something had changed between them. Until she'd met him, she'd always relied on her instincts. Trusted them. Believed in them. Listened to what her gut, and more importantly her heart, was telling her. Since she'd met him she'd doubted those instincts. Questioned them. Allowed his ever-changing personality to shift the sands beneath her feet.

Could she really be so very wrong about him? She saw in him what she'd seen so many times in others over the years: A hero. Someone who sacrificed their individual needs to help others, to do what needed to be done even if it cost them a part of their soul along the way. Not everyone could approach heroism with Clark's eternal optimism, Bart's Tigger-like enthusiasm, Victor's stoicism, the wisdom of ages John Jones possessed or Oliver's buried need to right the wrongs of his past - his dry sense of humor often masking a frustration with his inability to do what some of the super-powered men and women around him could do. They were each as individual as the disguises they chose to hide behind. Bruce just happened to have more disguises than most. It was sorting through them to find the man beneath where she'd been having the most difficulty. Relying on her instincts should have helped with that. But how could she get to the truth when he was so determined to keep her at several dozen arms lengths?

When his fingers moved against hers, Vicki looked down at their joined hands, feeling the same way she'd felt when he'd held her hand in the car. So much strength contained within that large hand, yet he held hers so lightly; as if it was something incredibly fragile or precious. Holding someone's hand was such a simple act. One of the first things a baby would do was clasp an adult's finger and hold on, instinctively reaching out for the contact of another human being so they knew someone was there for them. It felt so very long since Vicki had allowed herself to reach out for that contact. When the pad of his thumb brushed gently back and forth over the skin on the back of her hand, she felt a familiar tingle of warmth forming beneath his touch. No-one had ever had the effect on her body he did every time he touched her. Was it part of the strange connection that had brought her the visions she'd never had before? Maybe there wasn't a 'connection', maybe there was simply something about him that sent the empathetic element of her ability into over-drive.

After glancing briefly at the two bird-like creatures who were executing imaginative and impressive feats of flexibility and balance while perched on a seemingly weightless rotating table on the stage, Vicki looked down at their hands again; focussing on the point of contact where his thumb was brushing her skin and creating the tingle of warmth that was working its way up her arm. She took a slow, deep breath, fighting the need to close her eyes and savor the tantalizingly male aroma of his cologne. Then, as she felt a bubble forming in her chest, making it more difficult to breathe in a regular rhythm, she made the mistake of lifting her chin and looking at Bruce's profile.

She'd reached out with her mind before she realized she was doing it. It was then Bruce chose to look into her eyes again.

At first she didn't know what she was feeling. When she was healing someone, she would reach out with her mind and search for the source of their physical pain, going below the surface of the injury to the deeper wound beneath and 'willing' the pain away; opening her heart and giving until - sometimes literally - she had nothing left to give. It had taken a long time to learn to control it. To give only what was needed before breaking the link. When it came to the pain she received in exchange, she had no control. The link couldn't be broken. While Bruce continued staring into her eyes, it felt the same to her: A link she couldn't break. The bubble in her chest continued to expand, her breathing becoming shallower.

Suddenly she realized what was happening. She tried frantically to control it. But it wouldn't stop.

Bruce's fingers tightened around hers when she tried to let go of his hand, "What is it?"

She shook her head, pushing back in to her seat as she gritted her teeth together and cold beads of sweat began to form on her forehead.

When she tugged on her hand, Bruce held on, "Tell me what's happening."

A low moan of frustration vibrated her clenched teeth as she grimaced and looked around them. Not now. Not here. Please don't let her have one of her out-of-control moments with so many people around. The bubble in her chest continued to expand while she fought to keep it inside; her heart and lungs straining against the increased pressure and an ominous sparkle of heat forming in her shoulders.

"Vicki," Bruce leaned forward, his deep voice laced with determination, "Look at me. Tell me what's happening."

"I need to get out." She tugged on her hand again, her gaze frantically searching for an escape route, "I can't stop it."

"Can't stop what?" A large palm framed one side of her face, the tips of his fingers sinking into the hair at the nape of her neck as he used his thumb on her chin to turn her head, "Look at me."

Her wide-eyed gaze crashed into his, a gasp of air dragged through teeth that began to chatter as her body shook. She blinked him into focus as if she hadn't known he was there.

"Keep looking at me."

"Bruce-"

His hand moved, fingers pushing deeper into her hair and his thumb brushing her cheek as he continued looking deep into her eyes to hold her attention, "What do you need me to do?"

Vicki shook her head, her throat tightening with emotion, "You can't do anything."

"What will happen?"

The shaking was getting harder to control, "I don't know."

"What started it?"

"I did." There was no point lying. There wasn't time. She looked around them again as the energy began to spark like miniature electric shocks down her upper arms. The built up energy was trying to find a way out; like water would seek out the cracks in rocks.

Bruce turned her head again, waiting until she made eye contact before he spoke in the same reassuringly calm tone, "How much time do we have?"

"Not long."

"It's the same energy you use to heal someone."

She nodded, "Yes."

"But with no-one to heal..."

Frustration at her inability to control what was happening made her snap the words at him, "I need to get out of here. _Now_."

"This has happened before." Whatever he saw in her eyes made his fingers tighten around hers where their hands were still joined, "Can you channel it through me?"

"What?" her brows lifted in surprise.

"Like grounding electricity," the thumb on her cheek continued to brush back and forth as he stared into her eyes. "When you're healing injuries, you can control the flow of energy."

She pointed out the obvious as sharper bolts of energy burned past her elbows, "You don't need me to heal you. You're not hurt."

"If I was, what would you do to heal me?" He removed his hand from her face and sought out the hand he wasn't holding.

Vicki looked down at her hands in his, then lifted her chin and looked around them. Everyone seemed focused on what was happening on the stage but there were enough people sitting close who might notice when her hands began to glow; particularly while the lighting was low. The energy demanding to be released cramped her midriff, creasing her forwards as it pushed the air out of her lungs while she continued fighting to keep it inside. What if she hurt him? She'd never sent so much energy into another person when they didn't have wounds that needed to be healed. What if the exchange automatically demanded the same level of energy from him in the back-flow? She couldn't control the return. What would happen if she took too much from him? What if –

"Keep looking at me. You can do this. You control it, not the other way around."

As much as she appreciated his faith in her, she hissed back, "I don't control it. Not all of the time."

"Focus your mind. Block everything else out. Control what you can." Dark eyes narrowed briefly in thought then he turned in his seat and moved his arms so her hands were pushed beneath his jacket, where he laid them against his sides and she felt his body heat through the thin covering of his shirt, "Move closer."

He made it sound so simple. Was so matter-of-fact. Mind over potentially nuclear burst of metahuman energy...

Vicki blinked pleading eyes, willing him to understand the gravity of the situation as he released her hands and wrapped his arms around her to draw her closer, "I've never done this with someone who didn't have wounds that needed healing. What if I hurt you?"

"You won't."

"I can't control the back-flow. I never could."

"If it makes you feel any better," the close proximity of his body to hers forced her to move her hands from his sides, her palms sliding around to his back, fingers automatically spreading wide as if she'd touched him that way a thousand times before and her fingertips knew every muscle, "when you kill me, you can say I've drunk myself into a stupor. Then you call Alfred, carry me out of here and you have permission to bring me back again."

"Not helping," she said breathlessly, frowning at him as he lifted his hands to frame her face.

"No-one can see what happens with your hands now. It'll look like we're making up."

"_Bruce _–" she choked on his name.

His thumbs moved against her flushed cheeks, the tip of one catching a tear as it spilled from the corner of her eye. When he spoke, the sound of his deep voice combined with the intensity of his gaze, "You can do this."

Vicki couldn't remember the last time she'd been so scared.

"Breathe."

She took a shuddering breath as his thumbs brushed her cheeks.

"Focus."

Staring into his eyes, she tried to regulate her breathing and focus her mind on the energy sizzling out of control inside her. Slowly releasing her tentative hold on it, she closed her eyes and imagined it was a pot of boiling water. She could see the bubbles frantically bursting on the surface, jostling for space beneath, racing from the bottom of the pan to the surface to break free. Then she tried imagining the heat being turned down, the soothing brush of thumbs against her cheeks and the steady, rhythmical exhaling of warm air close to her face reassuring her of his presence as she concentrated on focusing the energy into an even flow she could will down her arms and into her hands.

When she felt the tip of his nose nudging the hair at her temple, her eyes snapped open and she found him so close his eyes had become pools of midnight sky. She saw him tilt his head as he turned a hand over and brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone to her hair; the backs of his fingers smoothing a loose tendril into place before he rested his forehead against hers. _'It'll look like we're making up'_ he'd said. That's what he was doing, playing another role. Trouble was, his proximity wasn't helping her breathing or her heart-rate any...

"You can do this," his rumbling voice reassured again before he angled his head and set his cheek against hers; a hint of coarse stubble grazing her soft skin.

How was she supposed to concentrate on anything when he was doing that? Her fingers flexed against his back, pressing deeper into the heated skin that coated coiled muscle as the energy ebbed up her arms, gathered in her chest, then flowed into her shoulders and downwards to her hands. She needed to concentrate on something that wasn't distracting her from what she was trying to do, something that wasn't igniting her senses and adding to the heat in her body. She needed to focus her mind on something, push the energy towards it, coat it in the same way she did an injury. What if his body – for all its strength – couldn't channel the energy the way hers did?

"_Please_-" the agonized whisper escaped her lips. _Please don't let me hurt him_.

"Let go," said the deep voice in her ear, his lips moving against her cheek.

Her mind reached out, searching, seeking, grasping at anything she could fix. An old injury that still bothered him. A scar that hadn't healed. Something. _Anything_. Emotion spilled over inside her as her breath caught on a sob and the energy began to fizzle through her fingertips and into Bruce's body. She thought about how she would feel if she hurt him. If something happened to him that she couldn't fix. She thought about what he was doing to try and help her. The trust he was demonstrating. How he hadn't hesitated. She knew it wasn't because he cared about her or felt the same unexplained connection to her she'd felt to him - and a part of her ached so very badly for the loss of the woman he _had _felt a connection to. He was so alone without her. She could sense it: There was darkness inside him where she used to live. When she died, the spark of hope he'd had for the future had died with her. The boy, the young man he used to be had died with her too. His past _and _his future gone. Taken. Savagely stolen. She'd said she would wait for him and he had known she would. He missed her. She'd known him better than anyone. He missed her _so much_.

Hot tears burned in the backs of Vicki's eyes as she realized what was happening. She knew those things, not because her instincts sensed they were true, but because they were filtering through to her in the back-flow. It made sense. When she healed a wound, she sought, then soothed and took away the pain of it. When she'd reached out for something - _anything -_ to try and give herself something to heal, she'd found a different kind of the pain. The pain she seemed to keep tapping into, even when she wasn't trying. She still didn't know why it kept happening with him when it had never happened with anyone else. Maybe it was such a deep wound it had called out to her empathy-based ability? He wouldn't want her to know. Would be angry if he knew she did. He held his pain from the past close to him, didn't want to let it go; felt he needed the constant reminder to keep his mind focused. It was impenetrable armor around his hardened heart. But dealing with the pain of others was what she did. Easing it was her gift. And what he was doing for her right now... she owed him something in return...

Taking a sharp breath she pulled herself closer to him, her breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest as she mentally tried to crawl inside him and wrap herself around his pain to ease it. She blocked out all the memories she had of fear and darkness and danger and replaced them with her memories of the people and things she loved most. She thought about her father, about the magic of her childhood and her never-ending curiosity for the weird and unexplained. She thought about her early love for writing, her dreams of being a journalist, the first lame story she had printed at her High School newspaper and how it had felt seeing her name on a by-line. She thought about her cousin and sleep-overs and midnight picnics with blankets over their heads as they talked about boys and the starry-eyed dreams of the men they would marry one day. She thought about how they'd triumphed over adversity together, laughed about all the trouble they'd got into over the years, got so drunk they'd ended up with matching tattoos. She thought about Clark and their close, unexplainable, unquantifiable bond. How childhood friendship had transformed into an unbreakable bond that distance and time would never change, how amazing it had been to discover his secret and become part of a world that made sense of all the things she'd been so curious about early in life. She thought about the early days of the Justice League, how it had felt when she'd first stepped into the shoes of Watchtower, the sense of achievement and pride she felt when they did something that made a difference. She thought about how Bart could make her laugh, how they teased A.C. with every lame fish joke known to mankind, how none of those jokes were ever as funny as some of Victor's dry comments and how Oliver had become the kind of friend she could trust with her life.

In a few short moments, while the energy continued to flow from her fingertips into Bruce's body, she focused on how she felt about all those things, how they filled her heart to over-flowing and made her realize how incredibly lucky she'd been in her life. Then, when her heart felt like it would burst, she rested her head on his shoulder, turned her nose towards his neck, took a deep breath of his familiar scent, gathered the emotion into a ball in her chest and willed it towards him with the rest of the energy. She felt his body stiffen, braced herself for the incoming back-flow and gasped as her heart filled with an overwhelming sense of grief. Long arms tightened around her, the fingertips of one hand tracing circles on the naked skin of her back while he held her and she tried to keep the sobs that wracked her body as silent as humanly possible. As it always was with her ability, his pain became her pain. But this time his loss became her loss. She grieved for Rachel. A woman she had never met. For the life she would never have with the man who could have been so different with her there. Every fibre of her being ached with guilt for not being there to save her, anger towards the man who had stolen her life, the never-ending emptiness of regret. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. _Not Rachel_. Why did it have to be Rachel?

As the music on-stage changed, Vicki slowly crawled out of the abyss and back in to reality with shaky, erratic breaths that evened out with the help of something solid to lean on and the touch of warm fingertips on her cool skin. When she was calmer, she stayed were she was for a moment longer, blinking as she stared at his neck and continued breathing in his scent. She didn't know if she could face him, but she knew she had to.

Bruce must have sensed the change in her, because as she leaned back - her chin low as she slid her hands out from under his jacket so she could swipe at her cheeks and below her eyes - he loosened his hold to give her room and asked a simple; "You okay?"

She nodded, felt his arms move, then caught her breath when his fingertips gently brushed her hair back from her cheeks, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. When her gaze flickered upwards to seek his, she found him looking at her with an expression she'd never seen before. Curiosity? Confusion? Fascination? What was it? Brows wavering in question, she found a somewhat hoarse voice that didn't sound like her own, "You?"

"Yes." He leaned closer and quirked his brows, "And no-one died..."

Vicki blinked in surprise at the sight of a sparkle of humor in his eyes. He was _teasing _her?

Leaning back again, he studied her face with open interest, "What happened the last time you couldn't control it?"

Grimacing, Vicki glanced around them before confessing, "I broke two table lamps, a microwave and a television set."

"Was there a time before that?"

"A few. The first time it happened, I fried a laptop."

"I'd appreciate it if that didn't happen with any of my equipment," something over her shoulder caught his attention, "It could prove expensive."

Still stunned by his attitude, Vicki added a mumbled; "In fairness, nothing electrical is safe when it happens."

"Suggesting electromagnetism," he mused beneath his breath while his gaze shifted sharply to several points around the large arena.

"That occurred to me. Not that it helps when it comes to controlling it." She looked around them in an attempt to see what he was seeing.

"No visions this time."

"No." Her answer was followed by applause from the crowd, Vicki's attention drawn to the aerialists on the high bar, forty feet above the stage.

"Good." Bruce answered firmly, leaving her determined never to tell him what she'd experienced and tried to do during the exchange. He frowned, "Stay here. Don't move until I come back for you."

"Why?" She looked around again as a small clown car rattled onto the stage beneath the large net set up for the aerialists. What had he seen?

As they spoke, the lights had dimmed, spotlights following the daring trapeze artists as they flew to and from the arms of catchers suspended by their knees on cradle swings. The audience was riveted; their focus on what was happening above their heads rather than around them. It was the perfect time to stage an attack, Vicki realized. There would be pandemonium. People would be crushed in the rush to the exits, if the exits hadn't already been taken care of...

One of the aerialists performed a poetic double somersault to the delight of the crowd while the small car came to a halt and two clowns tumbled out. They played up to the people ringside. Tripped and skipped their way to the net, pointed up, feigned fear with knocking knees and silent cries for help.

"Because that isn't part of the show," Bruce got to his feet. "And those aren't the same security guards on the exits."

Vicki stood up, "What are you going to do?"

But it was already too late. In a heartbeat the clowns had dropped the net and cut the rope ladders.

And automatic gun fire sounded as the Joker walked on to the stage.

Tapping the microphone in his hand, he blew into it while the clowns from the car drew automatic rifles from their baggy trousers and shot them into the air above the crowd; causing chaos and screams, "One, two, testing... testing..." He licked his lips, lowering his chin as he looked out into the darkness and raised his voice, "Roll up, roll up! Ladies and gentlemen – your attention, please. Tonight... a new act for your ent-er-tainment. A little trick we like to call... _Mmmassacre_. Do we have any volunteers from the audience? Don't be shy..."

Bruce's hands bunched into fists at his sides. Everyone was getting to their feet, some already trying to get to the exits while Vicki could practically see the muscles in Bruce's body coiling as he mentally prepared himself. But he didn't have the suit or any of his equipment. What could he do as Bruce Wayne that wouldn't risk his secret identity being discovered? And there were so many of the Joker's men. At least it felt that way as more gunfire echoed around the arena, making if difficult to tell where the sound originated from. How had they got in? There'd been tight security everywhere.

When the crowd began to panic in earnest and the volume increased, the Joker spoke into the mike again, "People, people... a little grace under pressure... a little decorum..." his voice became angry, "_SHUT UP AND LISTEN!_"

There were co-ordinated bursts of gunfire to emphasis his words as thugs moved into the bleachers, pushed people back and the attention of the majority was drawn to the stage where the Joker was pacing as he continued in a lower, calmer voice, "Quiet down, folks. You need to hear _the plan_. If you don't know _the plan_ then everything descends into..." He waggled his fingers in the air at the side of his head and laughed the word in a manic high-pitched tone, "..._ chaos_..."

Lifting his index finger he pointed upwards and waggled it, "See... I had time to think about where we went wrong last time - when the people of Gotham proved such a disappointment to me. Little people. It was the little people, you see. Give the average Joe a chance to look like a hero and he might just step up to the plate. Monuments dedicated to the fallen Joe. Plaques. Memorial services. All the _little people_ banding together..." He stopped and brushed lank locks of tarnished green hair back from his face with the blade of an obligatory knife, his tone lowering with each word as if the sentences were running downhill and coming to an abrupt halt at the end, "You deserve a better _plan_." He pulled an apologetic face, "one that brings out the _worst in you_."

Some of the men in the aisles tried to tussle with the thugs. There was more gunfire. Screams. Sobbing. When Bruce saw a woman in a torn evening dress - tears streaming down her face as she tried to hold a crying child close to her skirts - he stepped into the aisle and steered them towards the small box he'd shared with Vicki, "Here. Sit down. If the crowd moves you could be crushed."

"Gotham is my stage," the Joker continued as he swept his arm in an arc, "and we need something to really get the audience going. Some _edgeoftheseat _excitement. You don't need to think about the person beside you like they did on the ferries. This time, it's every man, woman and child for themselves."

He was encouraging the crowd to panic? When Vicki looked down, her gaze met the small girl's; her wide eyes glittering with fear and confusion. Placing her in the small box with her mother wouldn't save her. When the crowd descended into chaos, they would climb over rails, seats - and bodies - to get out.

"People need something _dramatic _to shake them out of apathy... something _life-threatening_ to tap into their need to fight for survival..." He tapped his forefinger off his temple, "think about it... it's a case of survival of the... _fastest_..." He pointed at someone in the crowd, "Can you run? How bout you? How much to you want to live?" His expression changed, voice filling with rage, "_Follow the plan this time_!"

Tilting his head from shoulder to shoulder as if he was cracking his neck, he licked his lips and his voice became calm again, "Let's get to the fun part, shall we? If we may direct your attention..." He made an upward spiraling motion with his index finger, his chin lowered to his chest while he looked over the crowd with manic, darkly circled eyes, "... _to the dome above your heads_..."

The spotlights that had been trained on the aerialists now stranded on their beams far above the stage, panned upwards and focused on three points in the lattice of ironwork that made up the support beams of the dome, "Inside those boxes are canisters of Smylendol. Keeping them company, a few packages of what you may know as Semtex." With his hand above his head, he flexed his fingers into a fist then extended them sharply outwards, "_Boom_! Down comes the pretty dome. And you'll all be laughing when it does..."

The mayor fought his way to a railing to yell at the stage, "What the hell do you want, Joker?"

"Want? _WANT_?" He smiled a grotesque smile, "What do I _want_, Mister Mayor? I want chaos and anarchy. For people to be all they can, - to reach their true potential - no matter how low it takes them. Who do we have assembled before us? On one side all the lucky Joe's who won a ticket for this shebang in your Centenary Lottery. The kind of Joe's who were _SO _heroic last time. On the other, Gotham's finest. Rich, influential, corrupt to the bone. Looking down on the Joe's from their ivory towers. I'm evening the playing field, Mister Mayor. The Joe's get a chance to step on the rich," He made a fist in front of his face, "and _CRUSH _them beneath their feet!"

He walked across the stage again as Vicki saw Bruce looking up at the dome, her gaze following his until she saw movement in the shadows. Her gaze shifted to the bars the aerialists had been stranded on. Some of the performers were trying to climb to the boxes. She held her breath. If they fell...

The crowd was already beginning to push towards the exits in waves.

"It's the dawn of a new age in Gotham!" The Joker announced, "A proverbial killing spree. City wide mayhem and murder. Starting tonight. With all you lovely folks as our very first corpses-to-be. Don't you miss the Batman now? There's no-one left to play the game with... _but you_." He lifted an arm and shrugged back his sleeve to look at his watch, "You have three – well, just under three - minutes... starting... _NOW_!" He laughed insanely, "_Run for your lives!_"

Suddenly everyone was moving at once and Vicki found herself side-by-side with Bruce as they pushed bodies back in an attempt to protect the woman and child behind them. They bumped into them from all sides – so many of them - making it difficult for her to stay on her feet. In the aisle close to them several men were taking on one of the Joker's thugs, there was more gunfire, screams as people toppled over and disappeared into a seething mass of bodies. Then someone started pointing at the roof and yelling. Another voice joined in. And another. And another. Small pockets of people began standing still and looking upwards to where the costumed performers were scaling the support beams and climbing the walls; working together to get to the boxes as more and more of the crowd stood still and watched.

"Just can't get good help these days..." the Joker grabbed a gun from one of the clowns on-stage and began firing indiscriminately at the roof before yelling into his microphone, "_Shoot 'em down_!"

"_Stop them_!" Someone yelled in the aisle; grabbing hold of the thug's gun as he raised it and trying to wrestle it from him.

Overhead, aerialists swung from the thick steel wires that held the domed roof to the iron beams while below, small pockets of the crowd began to mobilize around the thugs to stop them from firing their weapons. So much for the Joker's wish for dog-eat-dog, Vicki thought. Bruce turned towards her, grabbing her arm and squeezing it in a vice-like grip as he yelled, "We need to get as many women and children to the exits as we can. Spread the word. And tell people to stand as far away from areas underneath the boxes as possible."

Vicki nodded, glanced upwards as he released her, then turned her attention to recruiting some of the men around her. Above them, one of the aerialists launched himself from wire to wire, swinging back and forth, lifting his feet to the wire to swing upright, then launching himself at the next wire until he got to a catwalk near one of the boxes and hoisted himself up. Bruce used the distraction to vault the low rail in front of their box.

"Be careful!" Vicki yelled at him.

He didn't look back, racing through the crowd with his gaze fixed on his destination.

The seconds ticked down as a thug appeared on the catwalk high above the stage where more aerialists had climbed. He grabbed one of them by the leg while another made the leap to a steel wire. The thug tugged hard, yanked the aerialists slight body toward the edge of the catwalk, bent down, punched him in the face, then tossed him over the edge. As he dropped towards the ground, screams in the crowd turned to gasps and cheers when he somehow managed to snag a swinging trapeze with one leg, wrap his ankle around a rope, and hang there long enough to summon the energy to swing onto the bar.

Bruce made his way towards one of the sentries at the side of the stage and punched him the gut, swiftly relieving him of his weapon before he knocked him out with the butt of the gun. Looking up, he saw two of the aerialists at boxes, yanking out wires and letting them drift to the ground.

On-stage the Joker checked his watch, signaling for the thugs closest to him to quit the fight while over their heads two of the aerialists were forming a human chain to rescue their friend. While a taller man anchored himself to a steel wire with his knees, the other dropped down his arms, gripped his hands, lifted his feet and changed position so he was upside down. They then began swinging at the same time as the smaller person on the trapeze, gathering momentum while another aerialist reached a box in the dome and began wildly undoing the ropes that held it shut.

The Joker's men opened a trapdoor on the stage floor as more of them fought their way through the crowd to make their escape. Taking turns dropping into the gap; a few of them fired their weapons into the crowd while the Joker looked around and hurried them along with an impatient wave of his arm. The aerialist high above had the last of the boxes open while halfway between him and the escaping Joker, his fellow performers made their final swings. The one on the trapeze let go, sailing gloriously through the air to the outstretched hands waiting to catch him. When one of the thugs looked up to see what was happening, Bruce tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around.

"Show's over," Bruce told him before knocking him out. Then, without looking around to see who might have witnessed what he was doing, he headed straight for the Joker.

Another thug appeared in front of him as a handful of men from the audience started climbing onto the stage.

The Joker stared up at the aerialists dangling above him, "Day in, day out, it always comes down to the same old question. Life...Or death..." He lifted his weapon and closed one eye, "_My kinda day_..."

Tossing thugs left and right as some of the men from the audience dealt with the ones he ignored, Bruce started to run across the large stage towards the Joker. High in the dome, the aerialist at the box hesitated for a moment, then reached inside and yanked out every wire he could find. Below him, the lowest member of the swinging trio caught sight of the Joker pointing a gun at them. There was a loud, piercing scream from someone close to the stage that rippled through the audience while Bruce raced towards the Joker. Almost there. Another thug broadsided him, knocking him flat. Then there were short bursts of gunfire.

Whether it was luck or good aim, when the spray of bullets cut a swath through the air the aerialist at the bottom of the human chain jerked, then the one above lost his grip on one hand and the top one slipped from the steel wire.

They plummeted towards the stage.

There was a trio of sickening thuds.

"Never did like the circus." The Joker said as he tossed his gun into the hole in the floor before dropping into it, "_Too many freaks_."

Bruce struggled to his feet and headed for the trap door as a charge inside the hatch blew up and took a chunk of the stage with it; jerking his body backwards as if he was attached to a wire.

In a moment of sudden silence, the last of the aerialists in the dome held his fists aloft and pumped the air in victory. The crowd below cheered. He swung from wire to wire to make his way back to the catwalk above the stage and then, at the rail, he looked down and froze.

By the time Vicki fought her way to the stage, the crowd was rallying; loud voices organizing a calm exit from the arena while the injured were taken care of and any remaining thugs were manhandled towards the sirens sounding outside. She'd been jostled and bumped and bruised, had torn the skirt of her dress in her haste and had blood on the bodice from when she'd stopped to use the last of her energy to help someone; her hand rubbing the aching shoulder that had been her reward. She didn't know where she'd found the energy after what had happened with Bruce. Adrenalin most likely. And she knew she'd taken a chance using it, but she hadn't thought about that at the time. In the same way Bruce hadn't when he'd stepped into the fray without his suit. Now she needed to know he was okay. Prayed he wouldn't need her to heal him when her reserves were so low. _Had to find him..._

Stumbling into someone, she winced as her shoulder protested, then spun on her heel and came up short. On the ground in front of her were three bodies. She didn't know them, but she recognized two of them. The last time she'd seen them they'd been soaring gracefully in the air, twisting and turning like flying ballet dancers as the White Singer sang '_Vai Vedrai_'. Bruce's words echoed in her head as she saw them in her mind's eye the way they'd been when they were alive; '_Go, go child, go, you'll see... go, go little one... you'll see... Go and you'll see the madness of mankind... Madness of mankind... without rightness..._'

They'd been so beautiful together. Youthful and free, they had moved in perfect sync. Now they were lying on the ground, close together, broken and lifeless, their hands reaching out as if they'd been trying to touch each other as they took their last breaths. She looked upwards. No. They were dead when they hit the ground. Numb, she lowered her gaze and found another performer standing a few feet away. Even with streaked make-up, his face said it all. He'd known them. Loved them. She remembered what Bruce had said; '_Husband and wife off stage. They have two sons who perform..._' He was one of them, wasn't he? Her heart twisted as she looked at the bodies again.

Surely the third one couldn't be...?

She'd taken a step towards him when she caught sight of something in her peripheral vision. Turning her head, she sought it out. Not something, _someone_. Bruce was sitting on one of the steps that had led to the band, feet spread wide, blood spattered shirt undone at the collar, suit smudged with dirt, bruised fists resting on his knees as he stared at the lone performer. The expression on his face was a mirror of the younger man's grief and Vicki's heart twisted into a tight ball of agony in her chest as she recognized it for what it was. He'd been there, had stood over his dead parents, and now he was blaming himself for what had happened to the performers, wasn't he?

Dull, dark eyes looked directly at her. He pushed to his feet. Turned.

Then simply walked away.


End file.
